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All is serene tonight along the banks of Antietam Creek.
'Neath the brooding moon, the battlefield looks so bleak.
Bloodied ground was hallowed on this dire September day.
On the field this night, six thousand slain heroes lay.

Six thousand valiant men stared heavenward with lifeless eyes.
Wounded brothers lay among them, emitting plaintive cries.
All about them was strewn the ravaged debris of battle,
Torn asunder by the cannons' roar and the muskets' rattle.

Strewn upon the field of strife were mementos now forlorn.
Thither and yon, Bibles lay, their pages scorched and torn.
Blowing in the breeze were photographs of those left to grieve.
Unfinished letters wafted about that families will ne'er receive.

Johnny Reb in tattered gray lay nigh Billy Yank in dusty blue.
Their mingled blood flowed as one, the sacred soil to embue.
It can ne'er be said that these men had sacrificed in vain.
Each believed in the cause for which he was cruelly slain.

Alas, other battles would rage 'til the war would cease,
When brotherhood would reign again, bringing blessed peace.
Soldiers lie awaiting Gabriel's clarion call, their duty done.
The sweet sounds of nature returned to replace the roaring gun.

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)

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