Battle Hymn Of The Republic

In our study of American literature. we come every novv íuk! tlH'ii üpon isolated poema wbich are au occasion both of surprise and pride. One of these poems, which has made a world-wide fume for its author, is Julia Ward Howe's " Battle llyinn of the Repuhlic," ritten during the Civil War. The way in which it carne to be written is an interestingbitof history, which was recently recalled ïnostdelightfully totliememory of a Boston audíence. The occasion was a gathering to hear the thrilling ture oí (Jlniplain U. u. ivicottue oí n"= brave 122nd Ohio regiment, upon "The Bright Side oí Life ín Libby Prison." The chapíain was a prisorter in 1863, if not later, and apparently has not forgotten an incident of his sojourn there. It was during bis confinement tbat ííeal Dow, of Maine, was shut up within the same prieon walls. Cpon this evening, Mrs. Howe was the uest of honor, occupying a seat ïjioii the platform and evidently taking ■real enjoyment in tlie lecture, to which úe gave frequent and prolonged applause. At the close of the lecture, which has been delivered before so man}' distinguished audiences, with ever increasing popularity, at Chaplain McOabe's most earnest request, Mrs. Hovve stepped to the front of the platform and spoke briefly. After referring to the agony of those long years of civil strife, to those at home no less tlian to the men at the front, or, worst of all, simt up within prison walls, she contino,ed, '"But perüaps you'd like to have me teil you how Icametowrite the'Battle Hyiim'?" And then she went on to teil us, in her simple yet eloquent way. She was in Washington with her husband, who, too oíd to fight, kept close watch of every inuveinent made during all those years of war. Tliey had been out that day to see a review which was suddenly postponed by a skinnish which took place not far from the city. As they rode slowly homeward, listening to the bands and the boys rendering "John Brown'sBody," James Freeman Clark, who was of the party (and the pastor of Mrs. Howe in her Boston home), said to her, "Mrs. Howe, why don't you write a hymn which the boys in blue can sing to that tune?" Mrs. Howe replied that she had often wished she could, and the matter was dropped. The next morning she wakened in the gray dawn and began to think about the hymn she wanted so much to write. As she th'ought more and more intently, it began to come to her, one line after another,until she had the ontire hymn in mind. She arose hastily and in the'dira twilight wrote it out, lettins; lier pencil áhape blindly the words she did not even try to see. This was her habit in composing verses. Later in the day she was able to decipher the hastily scrawled Iino8 which she probably could not liave unraveled after a longer delay. And thus our valued Battle Hymn was preserved to us. This hymn was first sung by Cliaplain MeCabe, and he sang it first vvhile in Libby prison. Henee it was peculiarly fitting that these incidents should be recalled on this occasion. " And then," Mrs. Howe modestly concluded, " after Chaplin McCabe's splendid voice had sung it and the soldiers had taken it up and the North was learning to love it, then people began to ask who wrote it?" Great applause followed this quiet yet impressive narrative. Tlien (Jhaplain McCabe, to the great delight of the audience, stepped to the organ and sang this famous hymn, while the great audience joined in the niighty chorus. As the hymn is not a long one we venture to repeat it entire. Let the children learn it to recite in school ! Let the whole family sing it with its inspired refrain, " Our God is marching on !" Let the fathers and motliers read it and reread it, and be by it lifted to a higher plane of loyal and devout patriotism ! 11ATTLE HYMN OF THE REl'ÜBUC. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the comiug of the Lord ; He is tramping out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fearful lightening of nis terrible swift sword, His truth is marching on. I have seen hïm in the watchfires of a huudred circliug camps, They have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps. I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; His day 13 marching on. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished rows of steeï, " As ye deal wlth my contemners, so with you my race shall deal; Let the Hero, bom of woman, crush the serpent with his heal, Since God is marchiug on.p He hath sounded forth the trumpet that shall never cali retreat; He js Blftlng out the hearts of raen before his judgment seat; O, be swift.my soul, to auswer himl be jubilant, my feet ! Our God is marchlng oa ! In the beauty of the lillies Christ was boni across the sea. Wlth a glory in hlB bosom which transfigures you and me ; As he died to inake men holy, let us die to nuiku men fred W'iiilo God in inarehing on.