Just in Time for the 250^th Anniversary of Republic to Degeneracy

By Steve Kendall

I’ve often wondered about the morbid envy, malice, and blood-lust that inspired Julia Ward Howe to write the words of one of the most terrible songs ever sung, the perennially popular "Battle Hymn of the Republic," which, I hope, owes its popularity to the stirring music she thieved when she set her words to it. This National Socialist article, which tells the simple truth about the song and the hate-filled anti-White hag of a woman who wrote the words, should never be forgotten.

Whenever I heard a Southern voice or a Southern band giving vent to that despicable Battle Hymn of the Republic I wince. And then I wonder. I wonder if the renderers are plain stupid or if they are maliciously anti-White. That song is the most venomous ever written. The heart of it, if you will listen to its words, expresses the determination of its author to destroy Southern White people. And yet, today, Southern bands -- public-school bands, mostly -- are to be heard thumping away at the evil thing. Recall its phrases: ... “(W)e will trample out the vineyards where the grapes of wrath are stored"..."let us die to make men free"..."as we go marching on". "Those "grapes of wrath" are you, my Aryan friend, if you are an honorable Aryan-White person, you are the one to be trampled.

Let me tell you the story. Julia Ward Howe, the old biddy who wrote those lyrics, was a strange admixture of sex, piety, poetry, reform, and professional busybody. As such, she was the quintessence of a Victorian breed of cat indigenous to the North during the middle years of the Nineteenth Century. Such as she was known as an Abolitionist who were responsible for more "trampling" than any sect in this nation's history. The war of Northern Aggression against the South began in April of 1861. Some seven months later this roving eyed woman was to be found in Washington, whisking in and whisking out of a soldier's tent and that, at age 42, Julia Ward had come down from her Boston home to "minister" to "the boys." Between "ministrations," she holed up at the Williard hotel and there -- there or in some tent or another, the evidence is not clear -- one November night, that first year of the war, she put her feelings to paper. The thought behind her hateful words has been marching ever since.

The composition, itself, is strictly second rate-stuff -- as, indeed, was Julia -- and had there been only words, it is likely once her "poem" was published, that would have been the end of it. But there was the music, too, and that was the difference. It is a stirring martial melody. And so, piggy-back, stirring music has kept alive Julia Ward Howe's words of hate. Oddly enough, nobody knows who wrote the tune. Like the Ministering Angel, herself, the music has a clouded history. So far as I can learn, it was first known as a Methodist hymn, Brother Will You Meet us”? Later, as Hallelujah. Sumter had been fired on the preceding April. Perhaps a month after that, in May, at a flag-raising ceremony at Fort Warren near Boston, the old hymn was sung to different words.

The new lyrics honored a recently departed victim of a straight-shooting Confederate. As a patriotic, war-time tune, it caught on. That version became known as John Brown's Body (not the John Brown of Harper's Ferry infamy). Months later, somebody replaced John Brown with Julia's "poem" and there we have it. I offer the true significance behind today's use of the song is to be seen in the fact that it is not sung under its original words or title but as “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”  Such is the legacy of an anti-White hate-filled old hag; her dung words go marching on.

None of this information is obscure. I am equally confident those creepy little Communist vixens in our Southern public schools who teach it to their students do so with malice aforethought. Believe me, we've got a passel of weevils working on our corn meal. So, next time you hear the repulsive thing, ask whoever is in charge if they know its significance. When they deny such knowledge, tell them the story I have told you and watch their "surprised" reaction. Suggest they try “Dixie.”  Observe their reaction then.