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The Civil War Battle for Shiloh was fought on a Sunday, in the vicinity of a country church. The following Sunday the remark was made by one of the parishioners that they had received quite a sermon the week before.
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Brother killed brother and kin here,
And friend killed friend as foe;
The wounded and dying did meet here,
In the hills around Shiloh.
The blood of young men spilt here,
To mingle with dirt and dew;
Was the sermon that was preached here,
With the open grave the pew.
The widows were left to pine here,
The mothers were stricken with grief;
The singing of funeral songs here,
Was sorrowful and brief.
The moon and stars shine soft here,
And the winds blow hushed and low;
For the dead have paid the price here,
In the hills around Shiloh.
For the smoke that hung in the air here,
Hangs thick in the air here still;
The echoes of guns can be heard here,
In the quiet morning chill.
Memories never die here,
Where these gallant men did fall;
The lessons etched in stone here,
Are bitterness and gall.
Still the nation grows in grace here,
And is cleansed white as snow;
From the lessons taught and learned here,
In the hills around Shiloh.
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