I'll tell you what I heard that day: I heard the great guns, far away, Boom after boom. Their sullen sound Shook all the shuddering air around; And shook, ah me! my shrinking ear, And downward shook the hanging tear That, in despite of manhood's pride, Rolled o'er my face a scalding tide. And then I prayed. O God! I prayed, As never stricken saint, who laid His hot cheek to the holy tomb Of Jesus, in the midnight gloom. "What saw I?" Little. Clouds of dust; Great squares of men, with standards thrust Against their course; dense columns crowned With billowing steel. Then bound on bound, The long black lines of cannon poured Behind the horses, streaked and gored With sweaty speed. Anon shot by, Like a lone meteor of the sky, A single horseman; and he shone His bright face on me, and was gone. All these with rolling drums, with cheers, With songs familiar to my ears, Passed under the far-hanging cloud, And vanished, and my heart was proud! For mile on mile the line of war Extended; and a steady roar, As of some distant stormy sea, On the south-wind came up to me. And high in air, and over all, Grew, like a fog, that murky pall, Beneath whose gloom of dusty smoke The cannon flamed, the bombshell broke. And the sharp rattling volley rang, And shrapnel roared, and bullets sang, And fierce-eyed men, with panting breath, Toiled onward at the work of death. I could not see, but knew too well, That underneath that cloud of hell, Which still grew more by great degrees, Man strove with man in deeds like these. But when the sun had passed his stand At noon, behold! on every hand The dark brown vapor backward bore, And fainter came the dreadful roar From the huge sea of striving men. Thus spoke my rising spirit then: "Take comfort from that dying sound, Faint heart, the foe is giving ground!" And one, who taxed his horse's powers, Flung at me, "Ho! the day is ours!" And scoured along. So swift his pace, I took no memory of his face. Then turned I once again to Heaven; All things appeared so just and even; So clearly from the highest Cause Traced I the downward-working laws-- Those moral springs, made evident, In the grand, triumph-crowned event. So half I shouted, and half sang, Like Jephtha's daughter, to the clang Of my spread, cymbal-striking palms, Some fragments of thanksgiving psalms.