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作曲 : Traditional Song |
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Come all ye valiant soldiers -- a story I will tell |
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About the bloody battle that was fought on Shiloh Hill. |
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It was an awful struggle that cause your blood to chill; |
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All from the bloody battle that was fought on Shiloh Hill. |
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'Twas on the sixth of April, about the break of day; |
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The fifes and drums were playing for us to march away. |
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The feeling of that moment I do remember still, |
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When first my feet were tromping on the top of Shiloh Hill. |
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About the hour of sunrise the battle first began; |
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Before the day was ended, we fought 'em hand to hand. |
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The horrors on that battle did my soul with anguish fill |
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The wounded men and the dying that lay on Shiloh Hill. |
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There were men from every nation laid on those bloody plains, |
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There were fathers, sons, and brothers were numbered with the slain, |
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The wounded men were crying for help from everywhere, |
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And others who were dying and offering God their prayer, |
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Very early the next morning we were called to arms again, |
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Unmindful of the wounded and unuseful to the slain; |
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The battle was renewed again, and ten thousand men were killed; |
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And from their deadly wounds, the blood ran like a rill; |
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And now my song is ended about those bloody plains; |
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I hope the sight by mortal man may ne'er be seen again! |
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I pray to God, my Saviour, "If consistent with his will, |
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To save the souls of every men who fell on bloody Shiloh Hill." |
