Читать книгу The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 09, No. 52, February, 1862 - Various - Страница 1

  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 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 this 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.

  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.