THE HOPES OF MAN. OUR past is bright and grand And 'tis ours to lead the van We are sprung from noble sires On us are freely showered The gifts of every clime, And we're the richest dowered Of all the heirs of Time. Brothers, then, in Union strong, As the nations sweep along We are brothers, and we know When the fiercest whirlwinds blow Brothers, then, in Union strong, See our prairies, sky-surrounded! Such a land, and such alone, Yes, the spirit of our land, With the forests for his crest, To our hearts' quick, proud pulsations, Shall yet lead on the nations To their brotherhood of peace. Yes, Columbia, great and strong, As the nations sweep along GOD SAVE THE NATION! THOU who ordainest, for the land's salvation, By the great sign, foretold, of Thy appearing, By the brave blood that floweth like a river, Slay Thou our foes, or turn them to derision!- THEODORE TILTON. BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. [November, 1861.] 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. I have seen Him in the watchfires of a hundred cir cling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I have read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: His day is marching on. I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel: 66 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." 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. In the beauty of the lilies 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, While God is marching on. JULIA WARD HOWE. ALL QUIET ALONG THE POTOMAC. [This piece, sometimes printed with the less characteristic title of "The Picket Guard," has been claimed for several authors, Northern and Southern. It appeared in the "Southern Literary Messenger," February, 1863, as "written by Lamar Fontaine, private of Company I, Second Regiment Virginia Cavalry, while on picket, on the bank of the Potomac, in 1861." More recently, it has been claimed for another Southern soldier, named Thad Oliver. But it is now known to have been written by Mrs. Ethel Lynn (or Ethelinda) Beers, of New York, and first published in "Harper's Weekly" in 1861. The phrase All quiet along the Potomac" was a familiar one in the fall of that year; and in the indifferent announcement that was one day added, "A picket shot," the author found the inspiration of her poem.] "ALL quiet along the Potomac," they say, 'Except now and then a stray picket Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro, 'Tis nothing-a private or two now and then Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming; Through the forest-leaves softly is creeping; There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep, The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, And gathers his gun closer up to its place, He passes the fountain, the blasted pine-tree- Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light, Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves? Was it moonlight so suddenly flashing? It looked like a rifle.... "Ha! Mary, good-by!" And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. |