Battle-Hymn of the Republic New World Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of and Old 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 judgment-seat: Glory New World and Old Glory 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. Sheridan's Ride October 19, 1864. Up from the South at break of day, And wider still those billows of war * By courtesy of J. B. Lippincott & Co. And louder yet into Winchester rolled As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, But there is a road from Winchester town, A good broad highway leading down; And there, through the flash of the morning light, He stretched away with the utmost speed; Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth; With Sheridan only ten miles away. New World and Old Glory Under his spurning feet the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, New And the landscape flowed away behind, World and Old Glory And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire, He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, The first that the General saw were the groups Then, striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, The sight of the master compelled it to pause. gray; By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! And when their statues are placed on high, The American soldier's Temple of Fame,- Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. New World and Old Glory Song of the Negro Boatman O, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come An' massa tink it day ob doom, An' we ob jubilee. De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves He say de word: we las' night slaves; De yam will grow, de cotton blow, O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear Ole massa on he trabbels gone; He leaf de land behind: De Lord's breff blow him furder on, Like corn-shuck in de wind. We own de hoe, we own de plough, We own de hands dat hold; |