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.
To Lucasta, on going to the Wars
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery