Red with the blood of our legions—­red with the blood of our best, Waiting the fate of the battle the lurid sun stood in the west.  Hid by the crest of the hills we lay at the right concealed, Prone on the earth that shuddered under us there as we lay.  Thunder of cheers on the left!—­dashing down on his stalwart bay, Spurring his gallant charger till his foaming flanks ran blood, Hancock, the star of our legions, rode down where our officers stood:  “By the left flank, double-quick, march!”—­
          We sprang to our feet and away,
Like a fierce pack of hunger-mad wolves that pant
          for the blood of the prey.
“Halt!”—­on our battery’s flank we stood like a hedge-row of steel—­ Bearing the banner of Freedom on the Gettysburg hills that day.

Down at the marge of the valley our broken ranks stagger and reel,
Grimy with dust and with powder, wearied and panting for breath,
Flinging their arms in panic, flying the hail-storm of death. 
Rumble of volley on volley of the enemy hard on the rear,
Yelling their wild, mad triumph, thundering cheer upon cheer,
Dotting the slope with slaughter and sweeping the field with fear. 
Drowned is the blare of the bugle, lost is the bray of the drum,
Yelling, defiant, victorious, column on column they come. 
Only a handful are we, thrown into the gap of our lines,
Holding the perilous breach where the fate of the battle inclines,
Only a handful are we—­column on column they come.

Roared like the voice of a lion brave Hancock fierce for the fray:  “Hurry the reserve battalions; bring every banner and gun:  Charge on the enemy, Colvill, stay the advance of his lines:  Here—­by the God of our Fathers!—­here shall the battle be won, Or we’ll die for the banner of Freedom on the Gettysburg hills today.”  Shrill rang the voice of our Colonel, the bravest and best of the brave:  “Forward, the First Minnesota!  Forward, and follow me, men!” Gallantly forward he strode, the bravest and best of the brave.

Two hundred and fifty and two—­all that were left of us then—­ Two hundred and fifty and two fearless, unfaltering men Dashed at a run for the enemy, sprang to the charge with a yell.  On us their batteries thundered solid shot, grape shot and shell; Never a man of us faltered, but many a comrade fell. “Forward, the First Minnesota!”—­like tigers we sprang at our foes; Grim gaps of death in our ranks, but ever the brave ranks close:  Down went our sergeant and colors—­defiant our colors arose! “Fire!” At the flash of our rifles—­grim gaps in the ranks of our foes!

“Forward, the First Minnesota!” our brave Colonel cried as he fell Gashed and shattered and mangled—­“Forward!” he cried as he fell.  Over him mangled and bleeding frenzied we sprang to the fight, Over him mangled and bleeding we sprang to the jaws of hell.  Flashed in our faces their rifles, roared on the left and the right, Swarming around us by thousands we fought them with desperate might.  Five times our banner went down—­five times our banner arose, Tattered and torn but defiant, and flapped in the face of our foes.  Hold them?  We held them at bay, as a bear holds the hounds on his track, Knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder, we met them and staggered them back.