, social activist
, and poet
, most famous as the author of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic
Born Julia Ward in New York City
, she was the fourth child of banker Samuel Ward
and occasional poet Julia Rush Cutler. Among her siblings was Samuel Cutler Ward
. Her father was a well-to-do banker. Her mother, granddaughter of William Greene
(August 16, 1731 – November 30, 1809), Governor of Rhode Island and his wife Catharine Ray, died when Julia was five after having borne seven children by the age of 27.
In 1843, she married Samuel Gridley Howe
(1801 – 1876), a physician and reformer who founded the Perkins School for the Blind
in Boston, Massachusetts.
The strokes of the pen need deliberation as much as the sword needs swiftness.
Weave no more silks, ye Lyons looms, To deck our girls for gay delights!The crimson flower of battle blooms, And solemn marches fill the nights.
The flag of our stately battles, not struggles of wrath and greed,Its stripes were a holy lesson, its spangles a deathless creed:'T was red with the blood of freemen and white with the fear of the foe;And the stars that fight in their courses 'gainst tyrants its symbols know.
I am confirmed in my division of human energies. Ambitious people climb, but faithful people build.
I have seen him in the watchfires of an 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. Oh! be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet! Our God is marching on.
He is coming like the glory of the morning on the wave, He is wisdom to the mighty, he is succour to the brave, So the world shall be his footstool, and the soul of Time his slave, Our God is marching on.