THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF LITERATURE, ART, AND POLITICS.
VOL. IX.—FEBRUARY, 1862.—NO. LII.
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.
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.
“ 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 is sitting 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.
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.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1862. by TICKNOR AND FIELDS, in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.