The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1900-12-02

Sone, LOT tny daIllance does thee wrong
Come to thine own heroic throng,
Stalking with liberty along
AND chant thy dauntless slogan-song,
Maryland, my Maryland!
L see the blush upon thy cheek,
Mary1andi
For thou was ever bravely meek,
Maryland
but To- !. It there surges forth a shrek,
IRON NIL TO hill, from creek to creek,
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
Maryland, my Maryland
Thou wilt not yield the vandaI toll,
Maryland!
1hou wilt not bend to his control,
Better Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better. the shot, the blade, the bowl,
IMAM cruc11Mon of the soul,
Maryland, my Maryland!
1 hear the distant thunder hum.
Tho o,a r., Maryland!
she she is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb.
6bfrah! She spurns the Northern scIIro
she 6TreasItthes. She burns, she'll come,
Maryland. my Maryland!
In direct contrast to this snirit was tho
outburst from the North. Calmly. as
under the shadow of a great purpose
the North gathered strength for the
struggle. From every city, village and
hamlet came the roll Of the drum and
the tread Of troops, marching to the song
John Browns body lies Wondering in
the grave Who wrote the song, no
one knows-the tune seemed to rise from
the ground. Thus came into being. bv
,p1ecemeal this most popular war song,
as also, did many others less universal
which served their day and were forgot
1t was left to Julia Ward Howe
to contribute to the literature of the
world a song that affords an index Of
the spiritual part on the part Of the North
of the great conflict for human freedom.
She had heen to the front after the
battle Of Bull Run. She had seen the
giant powers Of the North and the South
arrayed against each other on the open
field of battle. With the instinct of
genius, she pierced the veil Of sham and
saw straight to the core of the cause.
The great struggle for humanity seemed
to open before her, and, with the eye Of
seer, and with the stately dignity Of
ancient prophesy, she gave to the world
The Battle Hymn of the Republic
coming of the Lord;
He is tramping out the vintage, where
the grapes of wrath are stored;
He has losed the fateful lightning of
His terrible swift ord
Our God is marching on.
I have; seen him in the watchfires of a
hundred circhng camps;
They have builded Him an altar in the
evenings dewS and dampS;
1 can read His righteous sentence by the
dim and Haring lamps;
His day is marching on.
I have read fiery gospel, writ in bur-
nIshed rows of steel;
AS We deal with my contemnerS so nv
wrath with you Will DEAL
Let the hero born of women bruise the
serpent with his hee1';
Since God is marching on.
These and the subsequent stanzas en-
bodied as no other expression, the marital
frenzy of the North. There is nothing
personal. nothing selfish; there breathes
no hatred, no vengeance, but the venge-
ance of God. 1t Is the voice of a people
relying upon the power of the sword and
the vindicatton of heaven. This song,
adapted TO the tune of John Brown
expressed at once the dignity and sacred
ness of the cause for which SO much
blood and treasure were outpouring.
This was in 1861. The song was a bat
tie hymn; it melted to heroic action.
In 1854 came the chant of victory
Marching Through Georgia" Here is
the outhirst of people celebrating in
song, the greatest military achievement
of modern times.
The time may be coming, and that soon.
when the nation will again be stirred to
song. It may come as the result Of
a magnanimous national deed. 1t may
be born in the throes of an heroic self
defense.