SHILOH by Charles R. Allen

Many years have passed since Shiloh Day. Who are left of that gallant throng? Not many and their locks are gray. Their memories are almost gone. That Sunday morn by the river side, Grant rode from his boat up the hill, And ordered troopers from our ranks to ride, While the roar of cannon shot and shell. At noon the battle seemed sore against us, Our troops were falling back slow then- Many brave boys had fallen we knew, Our leader's face was grim, Oh! where was Wallace's men. Oh! Where was Lew Wallace and his men now? While Shilohs guns flashed and roared, The sun was going down. Yes! 'twas low. The hills with dead and wounded covered o'er. The troopers who went after him Will never forget that Sunday's ride. While they heard that awfull din. To hasten Wallace was Grant's word. And hasten him with his brigade, It was a call that Pariots heard, Which could not long be delayed. And well those men responded to the call. Although the Sun shone with heat, Many of them would stagger and fall, But would rise again to their feet. At last his weary men came on, And in battle line laid down, They were ready at break of Morn, And then the Charge was on. Hark! hear his chargeing column yell, Wallace, Wallace, for Wallace make way! Many a brave boy that fell, Many a brave lad died that day. That day they fought long and well, Their names are honored by all men, For many for their country fell, They are remembered by their country's men. On Shiloh hills the trees are green, Tis' Sunday a day of peaceful rest, No camp of Warriors are seen, A row of White Marble Collumns on the Crest. The birds are singing to day, Where wounded and dying men Once laid and breathed their life away, A quiet peace with music now and then.