My ears are still ringing.
My left arm hangs uselessly at my side.
Perhaps I am lucky,
so many of my friends have died.

I await the surgeon's attention.
I pray they have some brandy left.
I hear their hacksaws singing loud
a man is of his leg bereft.

This day we stood, we held the line
the round top still in Union hands.
The Rebs have not yet moved off.
They await Marse Lee's commands.

God, would I anywhere but here.
but no, I will accept this cup-
If I should die that men be free
my sacrifice is not too much.