When old Virginia took the field
And wanted men to rally on
To be at once her sword and shield
She formed her First Battalion

Although her sons were volunteers
And brave as ever bore a brand
The good old lady had her fears
That they'd prove but weak of hand

She therefore wisely cast about
For men of mettle and of mould
With nerve of steel and muscle stout
Like those that lived in days of old

She wanted men of pluck and might
Of fiery heart and horny hand
To wield the pick as well as fight
Or build a breastwork out of sand

Or should she march to meet the foe
That threatened on her western border
She wanted willing men to go
When told to put her roads in order

Or should the volunteers retreat
With baggage that might make them carry
T'would blunt the edge of their defeat
To bear a hand and help them carry
Or should some die of fell disease
The surgeons having failed to save
Sure men who work with so much ease
Would volunteer to dig a grave!

For these, and reasons quite as sound
When old Virginia went to war
She circumspectly viewed the ground
And plumped the middle man from taw!

In other words, to change the figure
When she stood up and took her rifle
And put her finger on the trigger
She meant to work, and not to trifle

And standing thus, yet wanting them
Some regulars to rally on
She took three hundred Irishmen
And formed her First Battalion

And when the storm of battle sweeps
Where fiercest foemen sally on
There, hard at work, or piled in heaps
She’ll find her bold battalion