Heard ye of Shiloh, where fierce Beauregard
O’erwhelmed us with numbers and pressed us so hard,
Till our veteran supporters came up to our aid
And the tide of defeat and disaster was staid—­
Where like grain-sheaves the slaughtered were piled on the plain
And the brave rebel Johnston went down with the slain? 
Lo—­torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder,
The Old Flag is waving there prouder and prouder.

Heard ye the cannon-roar down by Stone River? 
Saw ye the bleeding braves stagger and quiver? 
Heard ye the shout and the roar and the rattle? 
And saw ye the desperate surging of battle? 
Volley on volley and steel upon steel—­
Breast unto breast—­how they lunge and they reel! 
Lo—­torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder,
The Old Flag is waving there prouder and prouder.

Heard ye of Vicksburg—­the Southern Gibraltar,
Where the hands of our foemen built tyranny’s altar,
Where their hosts are walled in by a cordon of braves,
And the pits they have dug for defense are their graves,
Where the red bombs are bursting and hissing the shot,
Where the nine thunders death and the charge follows hot? 
Lo—­torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder,
The Old Flag is waving there prouder and prouder.

Heard ye from Gettysburg?—­Glory to God! 
Bare your heads, O ye Freemen, and kneel on the sod! 
Praise the Lord!—­praise the Lord!—­it is done!—­it is done! 
The battle is fought and the victory won! 
They first took the sword, and they fall by the sword;
They are scattered and crushed by the hand of the Lord! 
Lo—­torn by the shot and begrimed by the powder,
The Old Flag is waving there prouder and prouder.

GETTYSBURG:  CHARGE OF THE FIRST MINNESOTA

[Written for and read at the Camp Fire of the G.A.R.  Department of Minnesota, National Encampment of the Grand Army of the Republic, at Minneapolis, June 22, 1884.]

Ready and ripe for the harvest lay the acres of golden grain
Waving on hillock and hillside and bending along the plain. 
Ready and ripe for the harvest two veteran armies lay
Waiting the signal of battle on the Gettysburg hills that day. 
Sharp rang the blast of the bugles calling the foe to the fray,
And shrill from the enemy’s cannon the demon shells shrieked as they flew;
Crashed and rumbled and roared our batteries ranged on the hill,
Rumbled and roared at the front the bellowing guns of the foe
Swelling the chorus of hell ever louder and deadlier still,
And shrill o’er the roar of the cannon rose the yell of the rebels below,
As they charged on our Third Corps advanced
          and crushed in the lines at a blow. 
Leading his clamorous legions, flashing his saber in air,
Forward rode furious Longstreet charging on Round Top there—­
Key to our left and center—­key to the fate of the field—­
Leading his wild-mad Southrons on to the lions’ lair.