The Charge at Gettysburg

For the Lord
On the whirlwind is abroad; In the earthquake he has spoken;
He has smitten with his thunder
The iron walls asunder, And the gates of brass are broken!
—Whittier

With bray of the trumpet,
And roll of the drum, And keen ring of bugle
The cavalry come: Sharp clank the steel scabbards,
The bridle-chains ring, And foam from red nostrils
The wild chargers fling!

Tramp, tramp o’er the greensward
That quivers below, Scarce held by the curb bit
The fierce horses go! And the grim-visaged colonel,
With ear-rending shout, Peals forth to the squadrons
The order, "Trot Out"!
—Francis A. Durivage.