poet

Julia Ward Howe

by this poet

poem
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