JULIA WARD HOWE1819-1911
1819-1911
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 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.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.’He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgement-seat:O, 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.
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 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.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.’He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgement-seat:O, 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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.’
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.’
He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgement-seat:O, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant my feet!Our 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 judgement-seat:
O, 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.
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.
Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms,To deck our girls for gay delight!The crimson flower of battle blooms,And solemn marches fill the night.Weave but the flag whose bars to-dayDrooped heavy o’er our early dead,And homely garments, coarse and grey,For orphans that must earn their bread!Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,That poured delight from other lands!Rouse there the dancer’s restless feet:The trumpet leads our warrior bands.And ye that wage the war of wordsWith mystic fame and subtle power,Go, chatter to the idle birdsOr teach the lesson of the hour.Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knotBe all your offices combined!Stand close, while Courage draws the lot,The destiny of human kind.And if that destiny could fail,The sun should darken in the sky,The eternal bloom of Nature pale,And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!
Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms,To deck our girls for gay delight!The crimson flower of battle blooms,And solemn marches fill the night.Weave but the flag whose bars to-dayDrooped heavy o’er our early dead,And homely garments, coarse and grey,For orphans that must earn their bread!Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,That poured delight from other lands!Rouse there the dancer’s restless feet:The trumpet leads our warrior bands.And ye that wage the war of wordsWith mystic fame and subtle power,Go, chatter to the idle birdsOr teach the lesson of the hour.Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knotBe all your offices combined!Stand close, while Courage draws the lot,The destiny of human kind.And if that destiny could fail,The sun should darken in the sky,The eternal bloom of Nature pale,And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!
Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms,To deck our girls for gay delight!The crimson flower of battle blooms,And solemn marches fill the night.
Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms,
To deck our girls for gay delight!
The crimson flower of battle blooms,
And solemn marches fill the night.
Weave but the flag whose bars to-dayDrooped heavy o’er our early dead,And homely garments, coarse and grey,For orphans that must earn their bread!
Weave but the flag whose bars to-day
Drooped heavy o’er our early dead,
And homely garments, coarse and grey,
For orphans that must earn their bread!
Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,That poured delight from other lands!Rouse there the dancer’s restless feet:The trumpet leads our warrior bands.
Keep back your tunes, ye viols sweet,
That poured delight from other lands!
Rouse there the dancer’s restless feet:
The trumpet leads our warrior bands.
And ye that wage the war of wordsWith mystic fame and subtle power,Go, chatter to the idle birdsOr teach the lesson of the hour.
And ye that wage the war of words
With mystic fame and subtle power,
Go, chatter to the idle birds
Or teach the lesson of the hour.
Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knotBe all your offices combined!Stand close, while Courage draws the lot,The destiny of human kind.
Ye Sibyl Arts, in one stern knot
Be all your offices combined!
Stand close, while Courage draws the lot,
The destiny of human kind.
And if that destiny could fail,The sun should darken in the sky,The eternal bloom of Nature pale,And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!
And if that destiny could fail,
The sun should darken in the sky,
The eternal bloom of Nature pale,
And God, and Truth, and Freedom die!