Come on you gallant soldiers,
A story I will tell,
About the bloody battle,
That was fought on Shiloh's hill,
It was an awful struggle,
That caused your bloody to chill,
All from the bloody battle,
That was fought on Shiloh's hill,
'Twas on the 6th of April,
About the break of day,
The fifes and drums were playing,
For us to march away,
My feelings at that moment,
I do remember still,
When first my feet were tramping,
On the top of Shiloh's hill,
About an hour of sunrise,
The battle first began,
Before the day was ended,
We fallen hand-to-hand,
The horrors of that battle,
Leave my soul with anguish feel,
The wounded men and dying,
All laid on Shiloh's hill,
There was men of every nation,
Laid on them bloody clay,
There was Father, Sons, and Brothers,
All numbered with the slaves,
The wounded men was driving,
All help from every way,
And other wasn't dying,
And offering God there prayers,
Very early the next morning,
We was called to arms again,
I'm mindful of the wounded,
I'm useful to the slaves,
The battle was renewed again,
And thousand men were killed,
And from there deadly wounds,
The blood ran like a wheel,
And now my song has ended,
About them bloody playings,
I hope the sight to mortalize,
May never seen again,
I'll pray to God my saviour,
Consistent with his will,
To save the souls of them brave men,
Who fell on Shiloh's hill.
