The little bit of State pride voiced in the regret that my mother was not a native of the old Bay State, surprises us in a man of such wide sympathies as Mr. Emerson. In Whittier’s early poems also the local feeling is strongly pronounced. We should remember, however, that during the nineteenth century a good deal of sectional feeling still existed in the different States. The twentieth century finds us more closely united as a people than we have ever been before. Edmund Clarence Stedman happily characterizes the war hymn in the following passage. It occurs in a letter to me, asking that my mother would copy it for him. “I can well understand what a Frankenstein’s monster such a creation grows to be--such a poem as the ‘Battle Hymn’ when it has become the sacred scroll of millions, each one of whom would fain obtain a copy of it.”[36] Those who have visited the White Mountains will remember that one of the peaks is called “Starr King.” It was named for Thomas Starr King, a noted Unitarian preacher in the middle of the nineteenth century. Shortly before the Civil War he accepted a call to San Francisco. In addition to officiating in the church there he soon took upon his shoulders a task that was too heavy for his somewhat frail physique. This was nothing less than persuading the people of California to remain loyal to the Union. There was a good deal of secession sentiment on the Pacific coast in 1861. Starr King and his fellow-Unionists succeeded in their undertaking, but he paid the penalty of overwork with his life. Hence his memory is beloved and revered on the shores of the Pacific as well as on those of the Atlantic. One can imagine what the “Battle Hymn” must have meant to him, weary as he was with his strenuous labors. He pronounced it “a miraculously perfect poem.” Another “Spray of Western Pine” was contributed to the garland of praise by Ina Coolbrith, one of the last survivors of the golden age of California literature. JULIA WARD HOWE When with the awful lightning of His glance, Jehovah, thro’ the mighty walls of sea His people led from their long bondage free,-- A Woman’s hand, too light to lift the lance, Miriam, the Prophetess, with song and dance, With timbrel, and with harp and psaltery, Struck the proud notes of triumphs yet to be, And voiced her Israel’s deliverance. So in our own dear Land, in strife to save Another race oppressed, when light grew dim, And the Red Sea of blood loomed fatefully To overwhelm, the God of freedom gave Thro’ Woman’s lips His sacred battle hymn That rang thro’ combat on to victory!