“_Where will I find you, General, when I return?_” The aide Leaned on his bridle rein to wait the answer Thomas made; The old chief like a lion turned, his pale lips set and sere, And shook his mane, and stamped his foot, and fiercely answered, “_Here!_” The floodtide of fraternal strife rolled upward to his feet, And like the breakers on the shore the thunderous clamors beat; The sad earth rocked and reeled with woe, the woodland shrieked in pain, And hill and vale were groaning with the burden of the slain. Who does not mind that sturdy form, that steady heart and hand, That calm repose and gallant mien, that courage high and grand?-- O God, who givest nations men to meet their lofty needs, Vouchsafe another Thomas when our country prostrate bleeds! They fought with all the fortitude of earnest men and true-- The men who wore the rebel gray, the men who wore the blue; And those, they fought most valiantly for petty state and clan, And these, for truer Union and the brotherhood of man. They come, those hurling legions, with banners crimson-splashed, Against our stubborn columns their rushing ranks are dashed, Till ’neath the blistering iron hail the shy and frightened deer Go scurrying from their forest haunts to plunge in wilder fear. Beyond, our lines are broken; and now in frenzied rout The flower of the Cumberland has swiftly faced about; And horse and foot and color-guard are reeling, rear and van, And in the awful panic man forgets he is a man. Now Bragg, with pride exultant above our broken wings, The might of all his army against “Pap” Thomas brings; They’re massing to the right of him, they’re massing to the left, Ah, God be with our hero, who holds the crested cleft! Blow, blow, ye echoing bugles! give answer, screaming shell! Go, belch your murderous fury, ye batteries of hell! Ring out, O impious musket! spin on, O shattering shot,-- Our smoke-encircled hero, he hears but heeds ye not! Now steady, men! now steady! make one more valiant stand, For gallant Steedman’s coming, his forces well in hand! Close up your shattered columns, take steady aim and true, The chief who loves you as his life will live or die with you! By solid columns, on they come; by columns they are hurled, As down the eddying rapids the storm-swept booms are whirled; And when the ammunition fails--O moment drear and dread-- The heroes load their blackened guns from rounds of soldiers dead. God never set His signet on the hearts of braver men, Or fixed the goal of victory on higher heights than then; With bayonets and muskets clubbed, they close the rush and roar; Their stepping-stones to glory are their comrades gone before.