Before the awful face of Fate?

The tattered standards of the South

Were shriveled at the cannon’s mouth,

And all her hopes were desolate.

In vain the Tennesseean set

His breast against the bayonet!

In vain Virginia charged and raged,

A tigress in her wrath uncaged,

Till all the hill was red and wet!

Above the bayonets, mixed and crossed,