To lead the crouching line once more The grand old fellow came. No wounded man but raised his head And strove to gasp his name, And those who could not speak nor stir, "God blessed him" just the same.
For he was all the world to us, That hero gray and grim. Right well he knew that fearful slope We'd climb with none but him, Though while his white head led the way We'd charge hell's portals in.
This time we were not half-way up, When, midst the storm of shell, Our leader, with his sword upraised, Beneath our bayonets fell. And, as we bore him back, the foe Set up a joyous yell.
Our hearts went with him. Back we swept, And when the bugle said "Up, charge, again!" no man was there But hung his dogged head. "We've no one left to lead us now," The sullen soldiers said.
Just then before the laggard line The Colonel's horse we spied, Bay Billy with his trappings on, His nostrils swelling wide, As though still on his gallant back The master sat astride.
Right royally he took the place That was of old his wont, And with a neigh that seemed to say, Above the battle's brunt, "How can the Twenty-second charge If I am not in front?"
Like statues rooted there we stood, And gazed a little space, Above that floating mane we missed The dear familiar face, But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire, And it gave us heart of grace.
No bugle-call could rouse us all As that brave sight had done. Down all the battered line we felt A lightning impulse run. Up! up! the hill we followed Bill, And we captured every gun!
And when upon the conquered height Died out the battle's hum. Vainly mid living and the dead We sought our leader dumb. It seemed as if a spectre steed To win that day had come.
And then the dusk and dew of night Fell softly o'er the plain, As though o'er man's dread work of death The angels wept again, And drew night's curtain gently round A thousand beds of pain.