And who in hell made the Corinth road?
Horse to leather, man to rope,—
Slither, stagger with the load,—
Through rain, the mud and darkness grope!
Timber the ruts where the freshets run—
Dam off the floods; move up, move on,—
Live or die, but every gun
Must reach the ridge with its caisson!
Cover your powder from the wet;
Keep hammers clean and barrels dry,—