← Harold's Old Time Radio
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With the American Express Platinum card, you can access over $3,500 in annual value with benefits and eligible purchases across travel, entertainment and more. There's nothing like Platinum. Learn more@americanexpress.com Explore Platinum Enrollment Requirements monthly and other limits in terms apply. The story behind the so. Jam. Sam. Doctor Samuel Gridley Howe of Boston was distinctly a liberal. He loved liberty himself and admired in a great measure those who sought personal and political freedom with sufficient zest even to fight. It wasn't strange then that liberty loving, 23 year old Julia Ward, upon meeting Dr. Howe, should fall in love with him and subsequently marry him even though he was 20 years her senior. It was during 1861 that the Howes, with their friends, Reverend Dr. James Freeman Clark and Mrs. Clark, journeyed to Washington D.C. on government business. As they sped through the night, Dr. Howe broke the silence. Well, I'm afraid we're going to be in for some excitement. Why, Sam, what do you mean? There's war in the air tonight. I feel it. Well, after all, Dr. Howe, the nation is at war. I know, but there's something imminent here near the Capitol. Look out the windows. Those bivouac fires of the pickets all along the railroad. Right away. Something's up. Oh, Sam, you're letting your fears run away with you. Perhaps, my dear, perhaps. The next day the party rode a few miles out from Washington to witness a series of military maneuvers under the command of Union General McClellan. Well, Dr. Howell. Mrs. Howell, Mrs. Clark. Dr. Clark. How do you do? Donald. Glad to see you. Come right over here. We're waiting for you. Be careful. That's all right, Colonel. Give the command for the review. Yes, sir. Pass in review. Column of squads. Squads, right. Squads, right. Quads, right. March. Oh, this is thrilling, isn't it? It certainly is. Look, there's a rider coming up from the other direction. Do you see him? General McClellan? Yes, yes, I do. General McClellan, sir. Yes, what is it? Captain Ransom's compliment, sir. He's been surrounded by Confederate troops and needs reinforcements at once. Where is he? In a small woods about five miles south, sir. Colonel Brady, stop the review. Command a detachment of two battalions to follow this man to reinforce Captain Ransom. Yes, sir. Major Nicole. I'm very sorry about this, ladies and gentlemen. War is war. I knew it. I said last night something like this would happen. The worst of it. I'm afraid you're going to be delayed in getting back to Washington. I couldn't allow you to endanger yourselves while skirmish is going on. Well, that's all right. Let's go back to the carriage and just wait. I think with a brigade of federal soldiers about us, we'll be quite safe here. You're a very brave woman, Mrs. Howell. Oh, not at all. Well, here we are. You first, Mrs. Clark and Dr. Clark. Thanks. All right, Julia, I'll help you there. Why don't you sing something, Julia? Sing? Oh, no. Yes. Now that's a splendid yes, please, Mrs. Howe. Say, I've heard you sing up in Boston. Well, all right. I'll start it off, and then you boys everybody join in. John Brown's body lies a mouldering the grave John Brown's body light a mouldering in the grave John Brown's body light a mouldering in the grave his old marching on Glory, glory, hallelujah Glory, glory, hallelujah Glory, glory, hallelujah his soul goes long in love. Squads left. March. Oh, I'm so sorry, Mrs. Howe. I read some of the beautiful verses you've written to your husband's paper, the Boston Commonwealth. Oh, yes, Dr. Howe, why don't you write some new words for that inspiring tune you just sung? Words worthy of the stirring melody. Worthy of this occasion. Oh, no, Doctor, I. I don't feel equal to the task. It'd take a far greater mind than mine to compose fitting words for that tune. You owe it to your country, Julia Howe. You do. Why don't you try it? Well, all right, Dr. Clark. Perhaps I sh. That night, the excitement of the day passed. In the stillness of her hotel room, Julia Ward Howe lay thinking. Her mind seemed to be on fire, aflame with the glory of creation. Words, words, words were marching row on row across her mind's eye as the Union troops had done the day before. At last she arose, walked softly to the small desk, took up a pen in the dismal gray of the breaking dawn and began to write with feverish speed. The words drift from her pen entirely unaware of her surroundings, of the fact that her husband had been awakened and was watching her intently, unaware of the time she sat there writing. She finally paused, picked up the sheaf of paper scattered about her, and turned so that the roseate light of a new day could help her to read. Julia. Oh, yes, Sam. What in the world are you doing? Sam, I've written some words to that tune as Dr. Clark suggested yesterday. And, Sam, I like this better than anything else I've ever written. Now I can sleep. Upon returning to the north, Mrs. Howe took the poem to her friend James T. Fields. After reading the verses, it was he who suggested the title for them. And in the February 1862 issue of the magazine of which fields was editor, the atlantic monthly, the nation read for the first time the heroic words of julia Wardhouse, immortal epic, the battle hymn of the republic. Like the mad, boisterous flames sweeping rampant across the tinder grass of a prairie, the new song swept across the north. Everywhere the powerful measures of the battle hymn of the republic were raised to the heavens by the voices of men, women and children. Then, when the last watch fire in the last circling camp had burned itself low, when the last row of burnished steel had marched into the annals of time, when the last trumpet that shall never call retreat had sounded the call for cessation of hostilities, there gathered in the nation's capital a large audience to hear the stirring tales of combat from the lips of fighting. Chaplain mccabe, sitting upon the platform was the president of a once more unified nation, Abraham Lincoln. And as mccabe concluded his speech, it was a glorious regiment. But we finally met defeat at Winchester. It was. And I, with a great number of my fellow soldiers, was captured. We were taken to Libby prison. Ah, the horror of those days of waiting, of dismal silence within the walls of the prison. Waiting for some word from the outside. We didn't know how the war was going. Finally, a little colored mess boy came up to me. His face broadened into a happy grin. Well, sir, parson mccabe, the union army done wonder battle of Gettysburg. At that moment, I knew the tide of war had turned. Then I faced my prison mates and spread the great news to them. As one man. We lifted our voices in a glorious, triumphant hymn. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord he is tramping out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored he hath loosed the faithful lightning of his terrible swift sword his truth is marching on. Chaplain, let me shake your hand for that story. Thank you, Mr. President. Why, Mr. Lincoln, there are tears streaming down your face. I know. Yes. And I'm not ashamed of them, not one bit. I just wish I could have been there in Libby prison that day to sing that song with you. Years later, when asked for an opinion by the author, Julia Ward Howe uttered these words. The wild echoes of that fearful struggle have long since died away. And with them all memories of unkindness between ourselves and our southern brethren. But those who once loved my hymns still sing it. I hope and believe that it stands for what our whole country now believes in. That is the sacredness of human liberty. My poem did some service in the Civil War. I wish very much that it may do good service in the peace, which I pray may nevermore be broken. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. He is tramping up the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored? He hath loosed his faithful lightning of his terrible swift sword? His truth is marching on. Glory, glory, hallelujah. Glory, glory, hallelujah? Glory, glory, hallelujah. His truth is marching home? He has sounded forth a trumpet that shall never call retreat. He is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgment seat? O, be swift, my soul to answer him. Be jubilant, my feet. Our God is marching on? Glory, glory, hallelujah? Glory, glory, hallelujah? Glory, glory, hallelujah? His truth is marching on. Glory, glory, hallelujah? Glory, glory, hallelujah? Glory, glory, hallelujah.