Of musketry from Blue and Gray in those September days—

They come again, the gallant few, survivors of the fray,

Their breasts with hallowed memories filled, but passion passed away!

The fleeting years have silvered o'er the locks of those who live,

And turned to dust the sleeping ones who to their flag did give

The last drop of the crimson tide from ghastly wounds poured out

Amid the conflict's awful din and wild resounding shout;

And yet it seems but yesterday, or like a passing dream,

When marshaled on the mountain's side they saw the bayonets gleam,

As for a moment from the vale the battle's smoke was lifted,

And circling o'er the Blue and Gray in lurid clouds it drifted!

And now upon the blood-soaked ground once more they stand,

Where the unyielding "Rock of Chickamauga" held command,

[Pg 21]

And strewed the field with heaps of the assaulting Gray

Who dauntless rushed where lines of Blue refused to give the way;

And bloody scenes crowd thick and fast upon the memory here

To fill the heart with grief and dim the eye with misty tear;

And spanning Time's chasm with the imagination's bridge,

They hear the thunder of the guns from Missionary Ridge!

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