"The Brigade Must Not Know, Sir"

"Who've ye got there?"--"Only a dying brother,
Hurt in the front just now."
"Good boy! he'll do. Somebody tell his mother
Where he was killed, and how."

"Whom have you there?"--"A crippled courier, Major,
Shot by mistake, we hear.
He was with Stonewall." "Cruel work they've made here;
Quick with him to the rear!"

"Well, who comes next?"--"Doctor, speak low, speak low, sir;
Don't let the men find out!
It's Stonewall!"--"God!"--"The brigade must not know, sir,
While there's a foe about!"

Whom have we here--shrouded in martial manner,
Crowned with a martyr's charm?
A grand dead hero, in a living banner,
Born of his heart and arm:

The heart whereon his cause hung--see how clingeth
That banner to his bier!
The arm wherewith his cause struck--hark! how ringeth
His trumpet in their rear!

What have we left? His glorious inspiration,
His prayers in council met.
Living, he laid the first stones of a nation;
And dead, he builds it yet.