Fix bayonets, charge the Rebel lines, and all the ground retake.”
And every man, on foot, on horse, looked like a son of Mars,
As he shouted “Down the Rebel flag.” “Hurrah! the Stripes and Stars!”
At Gettysburg, our dear Old Flag was riddled by the shot
And men had fallen by the score, by roadside and in lot.
For three long days we fought the Rebs, repelling Pickett’s charge,
And the victory of the Old, Old Flag, did every heart enlarge.
When in our country’s darkest hour, our Grant was heard to say:
“Be true, my men, to the Old Flag, and you’ll shall see some day
That victory like the morning sun, will rise and on us shine,