July 4th, 1917 
179 
W I S C 
For Freedom, Not For Hatred. 
In 177d we fought for our free 
dom from England and again in 
1812, but we have not hated Eng- 
land. 
In 1861 we fought that all men 
under the Flag, black and white, 
should be free, but we do not hate 
the South. 
Tn 1898 we fought Spain that 
the Cubans might be free, but we 
do not hate Spain. 
In 1917 we are fighting that all 
the people of the world shall bc- 
free, but we will not hate GeiY 
many. 
We are fighting for freedom,' 
not for revenge or hatred. For 
forty years German officers . at 
dinners rid banquets have drunk . 
to “The Day, ” the day when they 
might wreak their hatred and 
vengeance on England. The Gcr- o 
man poet ,Lissauer, in 1914, 
sounded the note. Here it is : 
LISSAUER’S HYMN OF HATE. 
French and Russian they matter not, 
A blow for a blow, and a shot for a 
shot; 
We love them not, we hate them not, 
We hold the Weichsel and Vosgesgate, 
We have but one and only hate, 
We love as one, we hate as one, 
We have one foe and one alone. 
He is known to you all, he is known to 
you all, 
He crouches behind the dark' gray 
flood, 
Full of envy, of rage, of craft, of gall, 
Cut off by waves that are thicker than 
blood. 
Come let us stand at the Judgment 
place, 
An oath to swear to, face to face. 
An oath of bronze no wind can shake. 
An oath for our sons and their sons to 
take. 
Come, hear the word, repeat the word. 
Throughout the Fatherland make it 
heard. 
We will never forgo our hate, 
We have all but a single hate. 
We love as one, we hate as one. 
We have one foe, and one alone — 
England ! 
0 N S I N II 0 R T I C U L 
SPECIAL EDITION 
In the captain’s mess, in the banquet 
hall, 
Sat feasting the officers, one and all, 
Like a saber-blow, like a swing of a 
sail, 
One seized his glass held high to hail; 
Sharp-snapped like the stroke of a rud- 
der’s play, 
Spoke three words only: “To the 
Day!” 
Whose glass this fate? 
They had all but a single hate. 
Who was thug Known ? 
They had one foe, and one alone — - 
. England! 
Take you the folk of the earth in pay, 
With bars of gold your ramparts lay, 
Bedeck the ocean with bow on bow, 
Ye reckon well, but not well enough 
now, 
French and Russian, they matter not, 
A blow for a blow, a shot for a shot, 
■ We : fight ' the battle with bronze and 
steel, 
And the time that is coming Peace will 
seal. 
You will hate with a lasting hate, 
We will never c forgo our hate. 
Hate by water and hate by land, 
Hate of the head and hate of the hand. 
Hate of the hammer' and hate of the 
crown, ’• - 2 •• ; ; : 
Hate of seventy millions, choking 
clown." • 
We love as - one, we hate as one. 
We have one foe, and one alone— 
England 
War With Germany. 
(Continued from n. 178) 
Therefore they insist- that it is pa- 
triotic to oppose and obstruct and 
defeat the Government. Yet they 
love America they say. Beware 
of one who while pretending to 
be your friend finds nothing that 
is good in you, but only that 
which is bad — who commends you 
• in nothing but damns you in 
everything. Friendship is made 
of a different stuff than this and 
love of -country reveals and mani 
fests itself in other ways than 
this. 
U R E 
BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC, 
Julia Ward Howe. 
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 havfe read a fiery gospel writ in bur- 
nished rows of steel: 
“As ye deal with my contemners, so 
- with you my grace shall deal; 
Let tlie Hero born of woman, crush 
tlie. serpent with his heel, 
Since God is marching on.” 
He hath sounded forth the trumpet 
that shall never call retreat; ' 
He is lifting out the hearts of men be- 
fore his judgment-seat: 
Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer him! 
Be jubilant, my feet! 
r Our God is marching on. 
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was 
born across the sea. 
With a glory in His bosom that trans- 
figures you and me: 
As he died to make men holy, let us 
• ; dip; to make men free. 
While God is marching on. 
Breathes there the man with soul so 
dead, ' 
Wbo never to himself hath said: — 
“This 1 is niy- own, my native land!” 
Whose heart hath ne’er within him 
burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned 
From wandering on a foregn strand? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him 
well;. 
For Him no minstrel raptures swell: 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can 
claim;' 
Despite those titles, power and pelf, 
The wretch concentered all in self. 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the. .vile dust, from whence he 
sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 
'‘The Lay of the Last Minstrel .” 
