Julia
Ward Howe, 1909, poet and author, best known for writing “The Battle Hymn of
the Republic.”
The
political correct who strive so hard to rewrite history had pretty much reduced
her to a right wing, hyper religious zealot. Howe (May 27, 1819 – October 17,
1910) was a poet and author who was also an advocate for abolitionism and a
social activist, particularly for women's suffrage.
She
was inspired to write "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" after she and
her husband visited Washington, D.C., and met Abraham Lincoln at the White
House in November 1861. During the trip, her friend James Freeman Clarke
suggested she write new words to the song "John Brown's Body", which
she did on November 19.
The
song was set to William Steffe's already-existing music and Howe's version was
first published in the Atlantic Monthly in February 1862. It quickly became one
of the most popular songs of the Union during the American Civil War.
She
produced eleven issues of the literary magazine, Northern Lights, in 1867.
After the war she focused her activities on the causes of pacifism and women's
suffrage. She became active in reform and helped found the New England Women's
Club and the New England Woman Suffrage Association.
Howe
died of pneumonia October 17, 1910, at her Portsmouth home, Oak Glen at the age
of 91. She is buried in the Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Approximately 4,000 people turned out in the rain to sing "Battle Hymn of
the Republic" as a sign of respect.
After
her death, her children collaborated on a biography, published in 1916. It won
the Pulitzer Prize for Biography.
First
published version of The Battle Hymn of the Republic
Mine
eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He
is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He
hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword:
His
truth is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory,
Glory, hallelujah!
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
His
truth is marching on.
I
have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling 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 is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
His
truth is marching on.
I
have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As
ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal";
Let
the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel,
Since
God is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
His
truth is marching on.
He
has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He
is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat;
Oh,
be swift, my soul, to answer Him! Be jubilant, my feet!
Our
God is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Our
God is marching on.
In
the beauty of the lilies[14] Christ was born across the sea,
With
a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me.
As
He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,[15]
While
God is marching on.
(Chorus)
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Glory,
glory, hallelujah!
Our
God is marching on.