Chapter 8 of 221 · 56 words · ~1 min read

IV.

Come one, come all, at your country's call, Let none remain behind, But those too young, and those too old, The feeble, the halt, the blind; Let _every man_, whether rich or poor, Who can carry a knapsack and gun, Repair to the ranks of our Southern host, 'Till the cause of the South is won.