LEE-JACKSON DAY

January will always be one of the most sacred months in the Confederate Heritage calendar. The high Confederate holiday Lee-Jackson Day will be recognized by all true Southerners. While the woke liberal trash in Richmond may have formally erased this holiday from the Virginia books, they can never erase it from our hearts. 
Every year, Virginians and faithful Southerners from around the country gather in Lexington, Virginia to honor our two most beloved Confederate heroes, Generals Robert E. Lee and Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson and they did it as usual this year. Lexington was Jackson's home before the war when he taught at VMI, and when he passed away as a result of his wounding at Chancellorsville, he was returned to Lexington and buried in the town cemetery. It would later be named in his honor, Stonewall Cemetery. 
After the war, General Lee chose to follow his "Right Hand" to Lexington, when he took the post of president of Washington College. When Lee passed, he was buried on his own campus in Lee Chapel. The college would add his name to theirs, rechristening it Washington and Lee College. 
With both men buried in Lexington, and each sharing a birthday only two days apart, this naturally became the focus of memorial services for both. Eventually, this grew into the Lee-Jackson Day holiday that true Virginians celebrated for many, many years -- and continue to celebrate and always will. 
God Bless Southern Heros and God Bless the South, may she rise again.  
Deo Vindice. 
Source: VA Flaggers & Confederate Shop 


A twenty-one year old cannoneer from Richmond, Virginia Lieutenant William Gordon McCabe, sat penning some lines of verse on Christmas night, 1862. 
“The wintry blast goes wailing by, 
the snow is falling overhead; 
I hear the lonely sentry’s tread, 
and distant watch-fires light the sky. 
Dim forms go flitting through the gloom; 
The soldiers cluster round the blaze 
To talk of other Christmas days, 
And softly speak of home and home 
My saber swinging overhead, 
gleams in the watch-fire’s fitful glow, 
while fiercely drives the blinding snow, 
and memory leads me to the dead. 
My thoughts go wandering to and fro, 
vibrating ‘twixt the Now and Then; 
I see the low-browed home again, 
the old hall wreathed in mistletoe. 
And sweetly from the far off years 
comes borne the laughter faint and low, 
the voices of the Long Ago! 
My eyes are wet with tender tears. 
I feel again the mother kiss, 
I see again the glad surprise 
That lighted up the tranquil eyes 
And brimmed them o’er with tears of bliss 
As, rushing from the old hall-door, 
She fondly clasped her wayward boy – 
Her face all radiant with the joy 
She felt to see him home once more. 
My saber swinging on the bough 
Gleams in the watch-fire’s fitful glow, 
while fiercely drives the blinding snow 
aslant upon my saddened brow. 
Those cherished faces are all gone! 
Asleep within the quiet graves 
where lies the snow in drifting waves, – 
And I am sitting here alone. 
There’s not a comrade here tonight 
but knows that loved ones far away 
on bended knees this night will pray: 
“God bring our darling from the fight.” 
But there are none to wish me back, 
for me no yearning prayers arise 
the lips are mute and closed the eyes – 
My home is in the bivouac.” 
John Marquardt