Skimming lightly, wheeling still, br The swallows fly low br Over the field in clouded days, br The forest-field of Shiloh -- br Over the field where April rain br Solaced the parched one stretched in pain br Through the pause of night br That followed the Sunday fight br Around the church of Shiloh-- br The church so lone, the log-built one, br That echoed to many a parting groan br And natural prayer br Of dying foemen mingled there -- br Foemen at morn, but friends at eve -- br Fame or country least their care: br (What like a bullet can undeceive!) br But now they lie low, br While over them the swallows skim, br And all is hushed at Shiloh.