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.

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