Poems

164 readers

1 users here now

A community to link to or copy and paste poems. It is not complicated.

Formatting help: two blank spaces at the end of a line will show you the path in the edit window

most certainly learning the Unicode markdown labels for spacing

nbsp

ensp

emsp

and how to activate them for your or someone else's poetry.

if a poem's language settings make it at all difficult to mod i'm deleting it.

founded 2 years ago

MODERATORS

[email protected]

Battle-Hymn of the Republic by Julia Ward Howe (reddthat.com)

submitted 2 weeks ago* (last edited 2 weeks ago) by [email protected] to c/[email protected]

1 comments fedilink hide all child comments

Battle-Hymn of the Republic

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 the 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 alter 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 beofre his judgement-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 dided to make men holdy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.

top 1 comments

sorted by: hot top controversial new old

[–] [email protected] 1 points 2 weeks ago* (last edited 2 weeks ago)

"In her later years, Julia Ward Howe became prominent in feminism, world peace movements, and prison reform, gradually alienating her husband, who felt neglected, but he died in 1876, and so freed her for another third of a century of good works." --excerpt from The Best Poems of the English Language by Harold Bloom. (525)