The wounded men were crying for help from everywhere, While others, who were dying, were offering God their prayer: "Protect my wife and children, if it is Thy holy will!" Such were the prayers I heard that night on Shiloh Hill. And early the next morning, we were called to arms again, Unmindful of the wounded and unmindful of the slain, The struggle was renewed, and ten thousand men were killed; This was the second conflict of the famous Shiloh Hill. The battle it raged on, though dead and dying men, Lay thick all o'er the ground, on the hill and in the glen, And from their deadly wounds their blood ran like a rill; Such were the mournful sights that I saw on Shiloh Hill. Before the day was ended the battle ceased to roar, And thousands of brave soldiers had fall'n to rise no more; They left their vacant ranks for some other ones to fill, And now their mouldering bodies all lie on Shiloh Hill. And now my song is ended about those bloody plains, I hope the sight by mortal man may ne'er be seen again; But I pray to God, the Saviour, "if consistent with Thy will," To save the souls of all who fell on bloody Shiloh Hill. STONEWALL'S REQUIEM. Permission of the OLIVER DITSON CO. Music by M. DEEVES. The muffled drum is beating, There's a sad and solemn tread, Our banner's draped in mourning, As it shrouds the "illustrious dead," Proud forms are bent with sorrow, And all Southern hearts are sore, The hero now is sleeping-- Noble Stonewall is no more. 'Mid the rattling of the muskets, And the cannons' thund'rous roar, He stained the field of glory, With his brave life's precious gore; And though our flag waved proudly, We were victors ere sunset-- The gallant deeds of Chancellorsville, Will mingle with regret. They've borne him to an honored grave, The laurel crowns his brow, By hallowed James' silent wave He's sweetly sleeping now; Virginia to the South is dear, She holds a sacred trust, Our fallen braves from far and near, Are covered with her dust. She shrines the spot where now is laid, The bravest of them all, The Martyr of our country's cause, Our idolized Stonewall; But though his spirit's wafted To the happy realms above; His name shall live forever linked, With reverence and love. LITTLE GIFFIN. By DR. FRANCIS O. TICKNOR. "A ballad of such unique and really transcendent merit, that in our judgment it ought to rank with the rarest gems of modern martial poetry."--P. H. HAYNE. Out of the focal and foremost fire, Out of the hospital walls as dire, Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene, (Eighteenth battle, and he sixteen!) Specter such as we seldom see, Little Giffin of Tennessee!