d the tune was chanted till the war was over, and its mission
accomplished. It closed not then; for to-day, after our lapse of a
quarter of a century, it is the tune of all others that fires the
Nation's heart. Ziska's drum head is immortal. Early in the War a
large prize was offered for competition, to those who would try to
write a National Hymn. True, we had "America," but it was sung to the
tune of "God save the King or Queen." "The Star Spangled Banner," but
it ran so high that few attempted it. "Red, White and Blue," and "Hail
Columbia"; but they were not adapted to the popular demands. A
National Hymn was demanded, and a committee of meritorious gentlemen
gravely sat down to decide on the merits of more than five bushels of
poems. Twelve hundred poetasters had sent in their lucubrations, over
three hundred of these sending music also, and what came of it?
Nothing, of course. Lowell can write an ode that will make our cheeks
tingle. Bayard Taylor has written them that exalted us with pride; but
neither of these men, nor any other, could sit down and in repose--in
cold blood as it were--write a National Hymn. What was wanted was
another Marseillaise, something which all could readily grasp and
hold, something that no man or woman could help singing, no matter
whether they had ever sung before or not. Roget de Lisle, amid the
terrible scenes of the French Revolution, and stung almost to madness
by the terrible events about him, in a single night gave expression to
a hymn that, in power, has been approached by only one other, that of
"John Brown's Body." Are there not points of resemblance? Both stir
the soul in the chorus. The "_Aux armes, Aux armes_," of the
Frenchman's song is reproduced in our "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!" No
man will take either hymn off by himself to learn it. They are in his
mind already; but he is never conscious of them till the proper
moment draws them forth. Our National Hymn has no parentage. I have
heard men thrillingly relate the fever of patriotism into which the
singing of its words threw them, as regiment would file along the
streets of our great cities during the war. There is not much to it in
point of words. Such hymns need few words.

"John Brown's body lies a mouldering in the grave."

"He has gone to be a soldier in the Army of the Lord."

"We will hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree."

There they are, the three stanzas; but they have been sung more times,
especi