THE BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.
Perhaps the "Battle Hymn of the Republic," by Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, may be considered the most lofty in sentiment and the most elevated in style of the martial songs of American patriotism. During the close of the year 1861, Mrs. Howe with a party of friends visited Washington. While there she attended a review of the Union troops on the Virginia side of the Potomac and not far from the city. During her stay in camp she witnessed a sudden and unexpected attack of the enemy. Thus she had a glimpse of genuine warfare. On the ride back to the city the party sang a number of war songs, including "John Brown's Body." One of the party remarked that the tune was a grand one, and altogether superior to the words of the song. Mrs. Howe responded to the effect that she would endeavor to write other words that might be sung to this stirring melody. That night, while she was lying in a dark room, line after line and verse after verse of the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" was composed. In this way every verse of the song was carefully thought out. Then, springing from the bed, she found a pen and piece of paper and wrote out the words of this rousing patriotic hymn. It was often sung in the course of the war and under a great variety of circumstances.
| 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 has 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 have read His righteous sentence in 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 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. |
WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER.
With the English soldiers a popular song in war times is the well known "Annie Laurie." It is said that during the Crimean War this sentimental ditty was sung by the English forces more frequently than any other melody. Several songs of similar sentimentality were famous on both sides during the civil war. The boys in gray sang "Lorena" at the very beginning of the war, and never stopped till the last musket was stacked, and the last campfire cold. The boys in blue sang "Mother, I've Come Home to Die," "Just before the Battle, Mother," "When this Cruel War is Over," and other songs of sentiment and affection. "When this Cruel War is Over" was written by Charles C. Sawyer, of Brooklyn, N. Y., and was published in the autumn of 1861. More than one million copies of the song have been sold. Some of the other compositions by Mr. Sawyer are "Swinging in the Lane" and "Peeping through the Bars."
| Dearest love, do you remember When we last did meet, How you told me that you loved me, Kneeling at my feet? Oh, how proud you stood before me, In your suit of blue, When you vowed to me and country Ever to be true! Weeping, sad and lonely, Hopes and fears, how vain; Yet praying When this cruel war is over, Praying that we meet again. When the summer breeze is sighing Mournfully along, Or when autumn leaves are falling, Sadly breathes the song. Oft in dreams I see you lying On the battle-plain, Lonely, wounded, even dying, Calling, but in vain. If, amid the din of battle, Nobly you should fall, Far away from those who love you, None to hear you call, Who would whisper words of comfort? Who would soothe your pain? Ah, the many cruel fancies Ever in my brain! But our country called you, darling, Angels cheer your way! While our nation's sons are fighting, We can only pray. Nobly strike for God and liberty, Let all nations see How we love the starry banner, Emblem of the free! |
WE ARE COMING, FATHER ABRAHAM.
In the dark days of 1862 President Lincoln issued a proclamation asking for three hundred thousand volunteers to fill the stricken ranks of the army, and to make the cry of "On to Richmond" an accomplished fact. Immediately after this call, Mr. James Sloane Gibbons, a native of Wilmington, Del., living in New York City, wrote:
"We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more."
This must have contributed largely to the accomplishment of the military uprising which it relates. The stanzas were first published anonymously in the New York Evening Post of July 16, 1862. Owing to this fact, perhaps, its authorship was at first attributed to William C. Bryant. Mr. Gibbons joined the abolition movement when only twenty years of age, and was for a time one of the editors of the Anti-Slavery Standard. When the Emancipation Proclamation was issued, he illuminated his residence in New York City. A short time afterward, during the draft riots, he was mobbed, and only by the assistance of friends was he able to save his life by escaping over the roofs of adjoining houses to another street, where a friend had a carriage waiting for him. He died October 17, 1892.
| We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more, From Mississippi's winding stream and from New England's shore; We leave our ploughs and workshops, our wives and children dear, With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent tear; We dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before: We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more! If you look across the hill-tops that meet the northern sky, Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry; And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloudy veil aside, And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride; And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour: We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more! If you look all up our valleys where the growing harvests shine, You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast falling into line; And children from their mother's knees are pulling at the weeds, And learning how to reap and sow, against their country's needs; And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door: We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more! You have called us, and we're coming, by Richmond's bloody tide, To lay us down, for Freedom's sake, our brothers' bones beside; Or from foul treason's savage grasp to wrench the murderous blade, And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade. Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before: We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more! |
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MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA.
All the great songs of the civil war, with one exception, were written during the first year of the conflict. This exception is "Marching through Georgia." It was written to commemorate one of the most remarkable campaigns of the war. Now that the war has been over for nearly thirty years, and the old soldier has no military duty more serious than fighting his battles o'er again, "Marching through Georgia" has become the song dearest to his heart. At the annual encampments of the Grand Army of the Republic, and at numerous meetings of the members of the Grand Army posts, the writer has heard this sung more frequently than any other. The words were composed by Mr. Henry C. Work, author of many well-known songs. Among the other best known of his patriotic lyrics are "Grafted into the Army" and "Kingdom Come." Mr. Work was born in Middletown, Conn., October 1, 1832. When he was very young his father removed to Illinois. He was an inventor as well as a song writer, and among his successful inventions are a knitting machine, a walking doll, and a rotary engine. He died in Hartford, June 8, 1884.
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Bring me the good old bugle, boys! we'll sing another song— Sing it with that spirit that will start the world along— Sing it as we used to sing it, fifty thousand strong, While we were marching through Georgia. CHORUS: "Hurrah, hurrah! we bring the Jubilee! Hurrah, hurrah! the flag that makes you free!" So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to
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