The Charge of Pickett's Brigade, In Gettysburg

In Gettysburg at break of day
The hosts of war are held in leash
To gird them for the coming fray,
E'er brazen-throated monsters flame,
Mad hounds of death that tear and maim.
Ho, boys in blue,
And gray so true,
Fate calls to-day the roll of fame.
 
On Cemetery Hill was done
The clangor of four hundred guns;
Through drifting smoke the morning sun
Shone down a line of battled gray
Where Pickett's waiting soldiers lay.
Virginians all,
Heed glory's call,
You die at Gettysburg to-day,
 
'Twas Pickett's veteran brigade,
Great Lee had named; he knew them well;
Oft had their steel the battle stayed.
O warriors of the eagle plume,
Fate points for you the hour of doom.
Ring rebel yell,
War cry and knell!
The stars, to-night, will set in gloom.
 
O Pickett's men, ye sons of fate,
Awe-stricken nations bide your deeds.
For you the centuries did wait,
While wrong had writ her lengthening scroll
And God had set the judgment roll.
A thousand years
Shall wait in tears,
And one swift hour bring to goal.
 
The charge is done, a cause is lost;
But Pickett's men heed not the din
Of ragged columns battle tost;
For fame enshrouds them on the field,
And pierced, Virginia, is thy shield.
But stars and bars
Shall drape thy scars;
No cause is lost till honor yield.