When Pickett charged at Gettysburg,
For three long days, with carnage fraught,
Two hundred thousand men had fought;
And courage could not gain the field,
Where stubborn valor would not yield.
With Meade on Cemetery Hill,
And mighty Lee thundering still
Upon the ridge a mile away;
Four hundred guns in counterplay
Their deadly thunderbolts had hurled—
The cannon duel of the world!—
When Pickett charged at Gettysburg.

When Pickett charged at Gettysburg,
Dread war had never known such need
Of some o'ermastering, valiant deed;
And never yet had cause so large
Hung on the fate of one brief charge.
To break the centre, but a chance;
With Pickett waiting to advance;
It seemed a crime to bid him go,
And Longstreet said not “Yes” nor “No,”
But silently he bowed his head.
“I shall go forward!” Pickett said.
Then Pickett charged at Gettysburg.

Then Pickett charged at Gettysburg:
Down from the little wooded slope,
A-step with doubt, a-step with hope,
And nothing but the tapping drum
To time their tread, still on they come.
Four hundred cannon hush their thunder,
While cannoneers gaze on in wonder!
Two armies watch, with stifled breath,
Full eighteen thousand march to death,
At elbow-touch, with banners furled,
And courage to defy the world,
In Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.

'T is Pickett's charge at Gettysburg:
None but tried veterans can know
How fearful 't is to charge the foe;
But these are soldiers will not quail,
Though Death and Hell stand in their trail!
Flower of the South and Longstreet's pride,
There's valor in their very stride!
Virginian blood runs in their veins,
And each his ardor scarce restrains;
Proud of the part they're chosen for:
The mighty cyclone of the war,
In Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.

'T is Pickett's charge at Gettysburg:
How mortals their opinions prize
When armies march to sacrifice,
And souls by thousands in the fight
On Battle's smoky wing take flight.
Firm-paced they come, in solid form
The dreadful calm before the storm.
Those silent batteries seem to say:
“We're waiting for you, men in gray!”
Each anxious gunner knows full well
Why every shot of his must tell
On Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.

'T is Pickett's charge at Gettysburg:
What grander tableau can there be
Than rhythmic swing of infantry
At shouldered arms, with flashing steel?
As Pickett swings to left, half-wheel,
Those monsters instantly outpour
Their flame and smoke of death! and roar
Their fury on the silent air—
Starting a scene of wild despair:
Lee's batteries roaring: “Room! Make room!!”
With Meade's replying: “Doom! 'T is doom
To Pickett's charge at Gettysburg!”

'T is Pickett's charge at Gettysburg:
Now Hancock's riflemen begin
To pour their deadly missiles in.
Can standing grain defy the hail?
Will Pickett stop? Will Pickett fail?
His left is all uncovered through
That fateful halt of Pettigrew!
And Wilcox from the right is cleft
By Pickett's half-wheel to the left!
Brave Stannard rushes 'tween the walls,
No more disastrous thing befalls
Brave Pickett's charge at Gettysburg:

'T is Pickett's charge at Gettysburg:
How terrible it is to see
Great armies making history:
Long lines of muskets belching flame!
No need of gunners taking aim
When from that thunder-cloud of smoke
The lightning kills at every stroke!
If there's a place resembling hell,
'T is where, 'mid shot and bursting shell,
Stalks Carnage, arm in arm with Death,
A furnace blast in every breath,
On Pickett's charge at Gettysburg.

'T is Pickett's charge at Gettysburg:
Brave leaders fall on every hand!
Unheard, unheeded all command!
Battered in front and torn in flank;
A frenzied mob in broken rank!
They come like demons with a yell,
And fight like demons all pell-mell!
The wounded stop not till they fall;
The living never stop at all—
Their blood-bespattered faces say:
“'T is death alone stops men in gray,
With Pickett's charge at Gettysburg!”

Stopped Pickett's charge at Gettysburg
Where his last officer fell dead,
The dauntless, peerless, Armistead!
Where ebbed the tide and left the slain
Like wreckage from the hurricane—
That awful spot which soldiers call
“The bloody angle of the wall,”
There Pickett stopped, turned back again
Alone, with just a thousand men!
And not another shot was fired—
So much is bravery admired!
Pickett had charged at Gettysburg.

Brave Pickett's charge at Gettysburg!
The charge of England's Light Brigade
Was nothing to what Pickett made
To capture Cemetery Hill—
To-day a cemetery still,
With flowers in the rifle-pit,
But no one cares to capture it.
The field belongs to those who fell;
They hold it without shot or shell!
While cattle yonder in the vale
Are grazing on the very trail
Where Pickett charged at Gettysburg.

Where Pickett charged at Gettysburg,
In after-years survivors came
To tramp once more that field of fame;
And Mrs. Pickett led the Gray,
Just where her husband did that day.
The Blue were waiting at the wall,
The Gray leaped over, heart and all!
Where man had failed with sword and gun,
A woman's tender smile had won:
The Gray had captured now the Blue,
What mortal valor could not do
When Pickett charged at Gettysburg.