Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/94

IN WAR TIME By Heaven! it is a fearful sight to see their double rank

Come with a hundred battle-flags,—a mile from flank to flank!

Tramping the grain to earth, they come, ten thousand men abreast;

Their standards wave,—their hearts are brave,—they hasten not, nor rest,

But close the gaps our cannon make, and onward press, and nigher,

And, yelling at our very front, again pour in their fire!

Now burst our sheeted lightnings forth, now all our wrath has vent!

They die, they wither; through and through their wavering lines are rent.

But these are gallant, desperate men, of our own race and land,

Who charge anew, and welcome death, and fight us hand to hand:

Vain, vain! give way, as well ye may—the crimson die is cast!

Their bravest leaders bite the dust, their strength is failing fast;

They yield, they turn, they fly the field: we smite them as they run;

Their arms, their colors are our spoil; the furious fight is done!

Across the plain we follow far and backward push the fray:

Cheer! cheer! the grand old Army at last has won the day!

Hurrah! the day has won the cause! No gray-clad host henceforth

Shall come with fire and sword to tread the highways of the North!

'Twas such a flood as when ye see, along the Atlantic shore,

The great Spring-tide roll grandly in with swelling surge and roar: 64