This is a modern-English version of The Liberty Minstrel, originally written by Clark, George Washington.
It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling,
and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If
you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.
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Transcriber's Notes: The midi and pdf files provided in this e-book were created with Lilypond version 2.10. Please note that Lilypond's midi output does not reproduce some dynamics and articulations. Moreover, the pdf output uses modern notation style (except for old-style quarter rests).
Transcriber's Notes: The midi and pdf files included in this e-book were made with Lilypond version 2.10. Keep in mind that Lilypond's midi output doesn't capture some dynamics and articulations. Also, the pdf output uses modern notation style (except for traditional quarter rests).
Where appropriate, the Lilypond source files contain Transcriber's Notes regarding corrections to the music. For each song, the lyrics in the music image have been reproduced in the text.
Where relevant, the Lilypond source files include notes from the transcriber about corrections to the music. For each song, the lyrics shown in the music image have been included in the text.
Click on the [Listen] link to hear a song in midi format; the [PDF] link to view a music transcription in pdf format; and the [Lilypond] link to view the Lilypond source code in plaintext format.
Click on the [Listen] link to hear a song in MIDI format; the [PDF] link to view a music transcription in PDF format; and the [Lilypond] link to view the Lilypond source code in plain text format.
THE
LIBERTY MINSTREL.
"When the striving of surges
Is mad on the main,
Like the charge of a column
Of plumes on the plain,
When the thunder is up
From his cloud cradled sleep
And the tempest is treading
The paths of the deep—
There is beauty. But where is the beauty to see,
Like the sun-brilliant brow of a nation when free?"
"When the waves crash"
Wild at sea,
Like a squad on a mission
With banners on the ground,
When the thunder roars
From its cloudy slumber
And the storm is coming
Across the deep sea—
There is beauty. But where is the beauty to see,
Like the radiant face of a nation when it’s free?"
BY
GEO. W. CLARK.
BY
GEO. W. CLARK.
NEW-YORK:
LEAVITT & ALDEN, 7 Cornhill, Boston: SAXTON & MILES, 205
Broadway, N.Y.: MYRON FINCH, 120
Nassau st., N.Y.:
JACKSON & CHAPLIN, 38 Dean st., Albany, N.Y.:
JACKSON & CHAPLIN, corner Genessee and
Main st., Utica, N.Y.
NEW YORK:
LEAVITT & ALDEN, 7 Cornhill, Boston: SAXTON & MILES, 205
Broadway, NY: MYRON FINCH, 120
Nassau St., NY:
JACKSON & CHAPLIN, 38 Dean St., Albany, NY:
JACKSON & CHAPLIN, corner Genesee and
Main St., Utica, NY
1844.
1844.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1844, by
GEORGE W. CLARK,
In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the Southern District
of New York.
Entered according to the act of Congress in the year 1844 by
GEORGE W. CLARK,
In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the Southern District of New York.
S.W. BENEDICT & CO.
MUSIC STEREOTYPERS AND PRINTERS,
16 Spruce St. N.Y.
S.W. BENEDICT & CO.
MUSIC STEREOTYPERS AND PRINTERS,
16 Spruce St. N.Y.
PREFACE.
All creation is musical—all nature speaks the language of song.
All creation is musical—everything in nature communicates through song.
'There's music in the sighing of a reed,
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if man had ears;
The earth is but an echo of the spheres.'
'There's music in the sighing of a reed,
There's music in the gushing of a stream;
There's music in everything, if people would listen;
The earth is just an echo of the cosmos.'
And who is not moved by music? "Who ever despises music," says Martin Luther, "I am displeased with him."
And who isn't touched by music? "Anyone who looks down on music," says Martin Luther, "I have no respect for him."
'There is a charm—a power that sways the breast,
Bids every passion revel, or be still;
Inspires with rage, or all our cares dissolves;
Can soothe destruction, and almost soothes despair.'
'There’s a charm—a power that influences the heart,
That encourages every emotion to either celebrate or be quiet;
That ignites rage, or helps us let go of our worries;
Can calm destruction, and nearly calms despair.'
That music is capable of accomplishing vast good, and that it is a source of the most elevated and refined enjoyment when rightly cultivated and practiced, no one who understands its power or has observed its effects, will for a moment deny.
That music can do a lot of good and is a source of the highest and most refined enjoyment when properly developed and practiced, no one who understands its power or has seen its effects will deny, even for a moment.
'Thou, O music! canst assuage the pain and heal the wound
That hath defied the skill of sager comforters;
Thou dost restrain each wild emotion,
Thou dost the rage of fiercest passions chill,
Or lightest up the flames of holy fire,
As through the soul thy strains harmonious thrill.'
'You, O music! can ease the pain and heal the wound
That has resisted the expertise of wiser comforters;
You hold back every wild emotion,
You cool the rage of the fiercest passions,
Or ignite the flames of holy fire,
As your harmonious melodies resonate through the soul.'
Who does not desire to see the day when music in this country, cultivated and practised by all—music of a chaste, refined and elevated style, shall go forth with its angel voice, like a spirit of love upon the wind, exerting upon all classes of society a rich and healthful moral influence. When its wonderful power shall be made to subserve every righteous cause—to aid every humane effort for the promotion of man's social, civil and religious well-being.
Who doesn't want to see the day when music in this country, embraced and practiced by everyone—music with a pure, refined, and elevated style—will spread its angelic voice like a spirit of love on the wind, having a rich and positive moral influence on all levels of society? When its incredible power will support every just cause and help every humane effort aimed at promoting people's social, civil, and religious well-being.
It has been observed by travellers, that after a short residence in almost any of the cities of the eastern world, one would fancy "every second person a musician." During the night, the streets of these cities, particularly Rome, the capitol of Italy, are filled with all sorts of minstrelsy, and the ear is agreeably greeted with a perpetual confluence of sweet sounds. A Scotch traveller, in passing through one of the most delightful villas of Rome, overheard a stonemason chanting something in a strain of peculiar melancholy; and on inquiry, ascertained it to be the "Lament of Tasso." He soon learned that this celebrated piece was familiar to all the common people. Torquato Tasso was an Italian poet of great merit, who[Pg iv] was for many years deprived of liberty, and subjected to severe trials and misfortunes by the jealousy and cruelty of his patron, the Duke of Ferrara. That master-piece of music, so justly admired and so much sung by the high and low throughout all Italy, had its origin in the wrongs of Tasso. An ardent love of humanity—a deep consciousness of the injustice of slavery—a heart full of sympathy for the oppressed, and a due appreciation of the blessings of freedom, has given birth to the poetry comprising this volume. I have long desired to see these sentiments of love, of sympathy, of justice and humanity, so beautifully expressed in poetic measure, embalmed in sweet music; so that all the people—the rich, the poor, the young, and the old, who have hearts to feel, and tongues to move, may sing of the wrongs of slavery, and the blessings of liberty, until every human being shall recognise in his fellow an equal;—"a man and a brother." Until by familiarity with these sentiments, and their influence upon their hearts, the people, whose duty it is, shall "undo the heavy burdens and let the oppressed go free."
Travelers have noticed that after spending a short time in almost any city in the eastern world, one might think "every second person is a musician." At night, the streets of these cities, especially Rome, the capital of Italy, are filled with all kinds of music, and the ears are pleasantly greeted with a constant blend of sweet sounds. A Scottish traveler, while passing through one of the most charming villas in Rome, overheard a stonemason singing something with a uniquely melancholic tone; upon asking, he discovered it was the "Lament of Tasso." He quickly learned that this well-known piece was familiar to all the locals. Torquato Tasso was a highly regarded Italian poet who[Pg iv] spent many years deprived of freedom and faced harsh trials and misfortunes due to the jealousy and cruelty of his patron, the Duke of Ferrara. That masterpiece of music, so rightly revered and sung by people of all classes across Italy, arose from Tasso’s suffering. A passionate love for humanity—a deep awareness of the injustice of slavery—a heart full of compassion for the oppressed, and a real appreciation of the gifts of freedom inspired the poetry in this volume. I have long wanted to see these feelings of love, sympathy, justice, and humanity, so beautifully expressed in poetic form, captured in sweet music; so that everyone—the rich, the poor, the young, and the old, who have hearts to feel and voices to sing, can express the injustices of slavery and the blessings of freedom, until every individual recognizes in their fellow a peer;—"a guy and a bro." Until, through familiarity with these feelings and their impact on their hearts, the people, whose duty it is, shall "remove the heavy burdens and let the oppressed go free."
I announced, sometime since, my intention of publishing such a work. Many have been impatiently waiting its appearance. I should have been glad to have issued it and scattered it like leaves of the forest over the land, long ago, but circumstances which I could not control, have prevented. I purpose to enlarge the work from time to time, as circumstances may require.
I announced a while back my plan to publish this work. Many people have been eagerly waiting for it to come out. I would have loved to have released it and spread it across the land like leaves in the forest a long time ago, but there have been circumstances beyond my control that held me back. I intend to update and expand the work over time, as needed.
Let associations of singers, having the love of liberty in their hearts, be immediately formed in every community. Let them study thoroughly, and make themselves perfectly familiar with both the poetry and the music, and enter into the sentiment of the piece they perform, that they may impress it upon their hearers. Above all things, let the enunciation of every word be clear and distinct. Most of the singing of the present day, is entirely too artificial, stiff and mechanical. It should be easy and natural; flowing directly from the soul of the performer, without affectation or display; and then singing will answer its true end, and not only please the ear, but affect and improve the heart.
Let groups of singers, who love freedom, be formed in every community right away. They should study thoroughly and become completely familiar with both the poetry and the music, truly connecting with the feeling of the pieces they perform, so they can resonate with their audience. Most importantly, every word should be spoken clearly and distinctly. A lot of today's singing is way too artificial, stiff, and mechanical. It should be easy and natural; flowing directly from the singer's soul, without any pretense or showiness. Then singing will serve its true purpose, not just pleasing the ear, but also touching and uplifting the heart.
To the true friends of universal freedom, the Liberty Minstrel is respectfully dedicated.
To the genuine friends of universal freedom, the Liberty Performer is respectfully dedicated.
G.W. CLARK.
G.W. CLARK.
New York, Oct. 1844.
New York, Oct. 1844.
THE
LIBERTY MINSTREL.
GONE, SOLD AND GONE.
Words by Whittier. Music by G.W. Clark.
Words by Whittier. Music by G.W. Clark.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Gone, gone—sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,
Where the noisome insect stings,
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews,
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air,
Gone, gone—sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone—sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash,
Shall a mother's kindness bless them,
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone—sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters,
Woe is me my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone—sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go,
Faint with toil, and rack'd with pain,
To their cheerless homes again—
There no brother's voice shall greet them—
There no father's welcome meet them.—Gone, &c.
Gone, gone—sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play—
From the cool spring where they drank—
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank—
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there.—Gone, &c.
Gone, gone—sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the Spoiler's prey;
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er,
And the fetter galls no more!—Gone, &c.
Gone, gone—sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
By the holy love He beareth—
By the bruised reed He spareth—
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.—Gone, &c.
Gone, gone—sold and out.
To the wet, isolated rice swamp,
Where the slave whip never stops,
Where the nasty insects sting,
Where the fever demon spreads
Poison with the falling dew,
Where the sickly sunlight blares
Through the hot, misty air,
Sold and done,
To the wet, isolated rice swamp,
From Virginia's mountains and rivers,
Oh, how I mourn for my kidnapped daughters!
Sold and gone,
To the wet, lonely rice swamp,
There no mother's eyes are watching them,
There no mother's ears can hear them;
Never when the torturing whip
Leaves their backs marked with many cuts,
Shall a mother's kindness bless them,
Or a mother's arms hold them close.
Sold and gone,
To the wet, isolated rice swamp,
From Virginia's mountains and rivers,
Oh, how I grieve for my kidnapped daughters!
Sold and gone,
To the wet, isolated rice swamp,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they return,
Exhausted from labor, and wracked with pain,
To their joyless homes again—
There no brother's voice will greet them—
There no father's welcome awaits them.—Gone, &c.
Sold and gone.
To the wet, isolated rice swamp,
From the tree that cast its shadow
On their childhood's play area—
From the cool spring where they drank—
Rock, hill, and stream bank—
From the solemn place of worship,
And the sacred conversations there.—Gone, &c.
Sold and done for,
To the wet, isolated rice swamp,
Toiling through the exhausting day,
And at night the predator's prey;
Oh, that they had died earlier,
Sleeping peacefully, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power ends,
And the chains no longer bind!—Gone, &c.
Sold and gone.
To the wet, isolated rice swamp,
By the holy love He shows—
By the bruised reed He saves—
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel injustices are known,
Still be their hope and sanctuary,
With a love greater than a mother’s.—Gone, &c.
WHAT MEANS THAT SAD AND DISMAL LOOK?
Words by Geo. Russell. Arranged from "Near the Lake," by G.W.C.
Words by Geo. Russell. Arranged from "Near the Lake," by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
What means that sad and dismal look,
And why those falling tears?
No voice is heard, no word is spoke,
Yet nought but grief appears.
Ah! Mother, hast thou ever known
The pain of parting ties?
Was ever infant from thee torn
And sold before thine eyes?
Say, would not grief thy bosom swell?
Thy tears like rivers flow?
Should some rude ruffian seize and sell
The child thou lovest so?
There's feeling in a Mother's breast,
Though colored be her skin!
And though at Slavery's foul behest,
She must not weep for kin.
I had a lovely, smiling child,
It sat upon my knee;
And oft a tedious hour beguiled,
With merry heart of glee.
That child was from my bosom torn,
And sold before my eyes;
With outstretched arms, and looks forlorn,
It uttered piteous cries.
Mother! dear Mother!—take, O take
Thy helpless little one!
Ah! then I thought my heart would break;
My child—my child was gone.
Long, long ago, my child they stole,
But yet my grief remains;
These tears flow freely—and my soul
In bitterness complains.
Then ask not why "my dismal look,"
Nor why my "falling tears,"
Such wrongs, what human heart can brook?
No hope for me appears.
What does that sad and gloomy expression mean,
And why are those tears falling down?
No voice is heard, no words are spoken,
But all that can be seen is grief.
Ah! Mother, have you ever felt
The pain of saying farewell?
Was there ever a child taken from you
And sold right in front of you?
Tell me, wouldn’t grief fill your heart?
Your tears would flow like rivers?
If some cruel stranger seized and sold
The child you care about so much?
There’s emotion in a Mother's heart,
It doesn’t matter what her skin color is!
And although she must comply with slavery’s demands,
She shouldn't have to hold back her tears for family.
I had a beautiful, smiling child,
It rested on my lap;
And often made tedious hours pass,
With a happy, joyful heart.
That child was ripped from my arms,
And sold right in front of me;
With outstretched arms and sorrowful eyes,
It cried sadly.
Mother! dear Mother!—please, O please
Take your helpless child!
Ah! at that moment, I thought my heart would shatter;
My kid—my kid is gone.
Long ago, my child was taken away,
But my sadness still remains;
These tears flow freely—and my soul
Complains with deep bitterness.
So don’t ask why I have a "dismal look,"
Or why my "tears flow,"
What wrongs can any human heart bear?
I can't see any hope for me.
The Slave Boy’s Wish.
BY ELIZA LEE FOLLEN.
BY ELIZA LEE FOLLEN.
I wish I was that little bird,
Up in the bright blue sky;
That sings and flies just where he will,
And no one asks him why.
I wish I was that little brook,
That runs so swift along;
Through pretty flowers and shining stones,
Singing a merry song.
I wish I was that butterfly,
Without a thought or care;
Sporting my pretty, brilliant wings,
Like a flower in the air.
I wish I was that wild, wild deer,
I saw the other day;
Who swifter than an arrow flew,
Through the forest far away.
I wish I was that little cloud,
By the gentle south wind driven;
Floating along, so free and bright,
Far, far up into heaven.
I'd rather be a cunning fox,
And hide me in a cave;
I'd rather be a savage wolf,
Than what I am—a slave.
My mother calls me her good boy,
My father calls me brave;
What wicked action have I done,
That I should be a slave.
I saw my little sister sold,
So will they do to me;
My Heavenly Father, let me die,
For then I shall be free.
I wish I were that little bird,
In the clear blue sky;
That sings and flies wherever it wants,
And no one asks why.
I wish I were that little brook,
That moves so fast along;
Through pretty flowers and shiny stones,
Singing a joyful song.
I wish I were that butterfly,
Without a second thought;
Showing off my pretty, bright wings,
Like a flower in the wind.
I wish I were that wild, wild deer,
I saw the other day;
That flew swifter than an arrow,
Through the distant forest.
I wish I were that little cloud,
Guided by the soft southern breeze;
Floating along, so free and bright,
Way up to heaven.
I’d rather be a clever fox,
And hide in a cave;
I’d rather be a fierce wolf,
Than what I am—property.
My mom calls me her good boy,
My dad thinks I'm brave;
What terrible thing have I done,
Am I really supposed to be a slave?
I saw my little sister sold,
So they will do to me;
My Heavenly Father, let me die,
Then I will be free.
THE BEREAVED FATHER.
Words by Miss Chandler. Music by G.W.C.
Words by Miss Chandler. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Ye've gone from me, my gentle ones!
With all your shouts of mirth;
A silence is within my walls,
A darkness round my hearth,
A darkness round my hearth.
Woe to the hearts that heard, unmoved,
The mother's anguish'd shriek!
And mock'd, with taunting scorn, the tears
That bathed a father's cheek.
Woe to the hands that tore you hence,
My innocent and good!
Not e'en the tigress of the wild,
Thus tears her fellow's brood.
I list to hear your soft sweet tones,
Upon the morning air;
I gaze amidst the twilight's gloom,
As if to find you there.
But you no more come bounding forth
To meet me in your glee;
And when the evening shadows fall,
Ye are not at my knee.
Your forms are aye before my eyes,
Your voices on my ear,
And all things wear a thought of you,
But you no more are here.
You were the glory of my life,
My blessing and my pride!
I half forgot the name of slave,
When you were by my side!
Woe for your lot, ye doom'd ones! woe
A seal is on your fate!
And shame, and toil, and wretchedness,
On all your steps await!
You've gone from me, my dear ones!
With all your laughter and happiness;
There's silence within my walls,
A shadow over my home,
A shadow over my home.
Woe to the hearts that heard, unmoved,
The mom's anguished cry!
And mocked, with cruel scorn, the tears
That ran down a father's cheek.
Woe to the hands that tore you away,
I'm innocent and good!
Not even the wild tigress,
Destroys her peer's offspring.
I listen to hear your sweet voices,
In the morning air;
I look into the twilight's gloom,
As if to discover you there.
But you no longer come running to
Meet me in your happiness;
And when the evening shadows fall,
You're not by my side.
Your forms are always before my eyes,
Your voices in my head,
And everything reminds me of you,
But you aren't here anymore.
You were the glory of my life,
My joy and pride!
I almost forgot the word slave,
When you were with me!
Woe for your fate, you doomed ones! Woe
A seal is on your fate!
And shame, and toil, and misery,
Are waiting at each step!
SLAVE GIRL MOURNING HER FATHER.
Parodied from Mrs. Sigourney by G.W.C.
Parodied from Mrs. Sigourney by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
They say I was but four years old
When father was sold away;
Yet I have never seen his face
Since that sad parting day.
He went where brighter flowrets grow
Beneath the Southern skies;
Oh who will show me on the map
Where that far country lies?
I begged him, "father, do not go!
For, since my mother died,
I love no one so well as you;"
And, clinging to his side,
The tears came gushing down my cheeks
Until my eyes were dim;
Some were in sorrow for the dead,
And some in love for him.
He knelt and prayed of God above,
"My little daughter spare,
And let us both here meet again,
O keep her in thy care."
He does not come!—I watch for him
At evening twilight grey,
Till every shadow wears his shape,
Along the grassy way.
I muse and listen all alone,
When stormy winds are high,
And think I hear his tender tone,
And call, but no reply;
And so I've done these four long years,
Without a friend or home,
Yet every dream of hope is vain,—
Why don't my father come?
Father—dear father, are you sick,
Upon a stranger shore?—
The people say it must be so—
O send to me once more,
And let your little daughter come,
To soothe your restless bed,
And hold the cordial to your lips,
And press your aching head.
Alas!—I fear me he is dead!—
Who will my trouble share?
Or tell me where his form is laid,
And let me travel there?
By mother's tomb I love to sit,
Where the green branches wave;
Good people! help a friendless child
To find her father's grave.
They say I was only four years old
When my dad was taken away;
But I’ve never seen his face
Since that painful day.
He went where brighter flowers bloom
Under the Southern skies;
Oh, who will show me on the map
Where is that distant place?
I begged him, "Dad, please don’t go!
Since my mom died,
I love no one as much as you;"
And, gripping his side,
Tears streamed down my cheeks
Until my vision went blurry;
Some tears were for the dead,
And some were for him.
He knelt and prayed to God above,
"Please spare my daughter,"
And let us both meet again,
"Please keep her safe."
He doesn’t come!—I wait for him
At twilight's dim light,
Until every shadow resembles him,
On the grassy path.
I think and listen all alone,
When strong winds are fierce,
And think I hear his gentle voice,
And call, but there's no response;
And so I've spent these four long years,
Without a friend or a home,
Yet every hopeful dream is useless,—
Why doesn't my dad show up?
Dad—dear dad, are you sick,
On a strange shore?—
People say it must be true—
Please call for me one more time,
And let your little girl come,
To calm your restless bed,
And hold the medicine to your lips,
And rest your tired head.
Alas!—I fear he’s dead!—
Who will share my hurt?
Or tell me where his body lies,
Can I go there?
By my mom’s grave, I love to sit,
Where the green branches move;
Good people! help a lonely child
Find her dad’s grave.
The Slave and her Babe.
WORDS BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.
WORDS BY CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH.
"Can a woman forget her sucking child?"
"Can a woman forget her nursing child?"
Air—"__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__"
O, massa, let me stay, to catch
My baby's sobbing breath;
His little glassy eye to watch,
And smooth his limbs in death,
And cover him with grass and leaf,
Beneath the plantain tree!
It is not sullenness, but grief—
O, massa, pity me!
God gave me babe—a precious boon,
To cheer my lonely heart,
But massa called to work too soon,
And I must needs depart.
The morn was chill—I spoke no word,
But feared my babe might die,
And heard all day, or thought I heard,
My little baby cry.
At noon—O, how I ran! and took
My baby to my breast!
I lingered—and the long lash broke
My sleeping infant's rest.
I worked till night—till darkest night,
In torture and disgrace;
Went home, and watched till morning light,
To see my baby's face.
The fulness from its cheek was gone,
The sparkle from its eye;
Now hot, like fire, now cold, like stone,
I knew my babe must die.
I worked upon plantation ground,
Though faint with woe and dread,
Then ran, or flew, and here I found—
See massa, almost dead.
Then give me but one little hour—
O! do not lash me so!
One little hour—one little hour—
And gratefully I'll go.
Ah me! the whip has cut my boy,
I heard his feeble scream;
No more—farewell my only joy,
My life's first gladsome dream!
I lay thee on the lonely sod,
The heaven is bright above;
These Christians boast they have a God,
And say his name is Love:
O gentle, loving God, look down!
My dying baby see;
The mercy that from earth is flown,
Perhaps may dwell with Thee!
Oh, master, let me stay, to catch
My baby's crying breaths;
His little glassy eye to watch,
And smooth his body in death,
And cover him with grass and leaves,
Under the banana tree!
It’s not sullenness, but grief—
Oh, master, please have mercy on me!
God gave me my baby—a precious gift,
To lift my lonely spirits,
But master called me to work too soon,
And I have to leave.
The morning was cold—I didn’t say a word,
But I was afraid my baby might die,
And heard all day, or thought I heard,
My baby is crying.
At noon—oh, how I ran! and took
My baby at my breast!
I lingered—and the long lash broke
My sleeping baby's rest.
I worked until night—until the darkest night,
In agony and shame;
Went home, and watched until morning light,
To see my baby's face.
The fullness from its cheek was gone,
The sparkle in its eye;
Now hot, like fire, now cold, like stone,
I knew my baby would die.
I worked on plantation ground,
Though weak with grief and fear,
Then ran, or flew, and here I found—
Look, master, nearly dead.
Then give me just one little hour—
Oh! Please don’t hit me like that!
One little hour—one little hour—
And I’ll gratefully move on.
Ah me! the whip has struck my boy,
I heard his weak scream;
No more—goodbye my only joy,
My first happy dream!
I lay you on the lonely ground,
The sky is bright above;
These Christians boast they have a God,
And let’s call him Love:
Oh gentle, loving God, look down!
My dying baby sees;
The mercy that from earth is flown,
Maybe I can stay with You!
THE NEGRO’S APPEAL.
Words by Cowper. Tune—"Isle of Beauty."
Words by Cowper. Tune—"Isle of Beauty."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Forced from home and all its pleasures,
Afric's coast I left forlorn;
To increase a stranger's treasures,
O'er the raging billows borne.
Christian people bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold:
But though slave they have enrolled me
Minds are never to be sold.
Is there, as ye sometimes tell me,
Is there one who reigns on high?
Has he bid you buy and sell me,
Speaking from his throne—the sky?
Ask him, if your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood-extorting screws,
Are the means that duty urges
Agents of his will to use.
Hark! he answers—wild tornadoes,
Strewing yonder sea with wrecks,
Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which he speaks.
He, foreseeing what vexations
Afric's sons should undergo,
Fixed their tyrant's habitations,
Where his whirlwinds answer—No!
By our blood in Afric' wasted,
Ere our necks received the chain;
By the miseries that we tasted,
Crossing in your barks the main:
By our sufferings, since ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart,
All sustained by patience, taught us
Only by a broken heart—
Deem our nation brutes no longer,
Till some reason ye shall find,
Worthier of regard and stronger
Than the color of our kind.
Slaves of gold! whose sordid dealings
Tarnish all your boasted powers;
Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere you proudly question ours.
Forced from home and all its comforts,
I left the coast of Africa feeling confused;
To increase a stranger's wealth,
Carried over the crashing waves.
Christian people bought and sold me,
I paid my dues in small amounts of gold:
But even though I've been listed as a slave,
Minds can't be bought or sold.
Is there, as you sometimes tell me,
Is there someone in charge up there?
Did he ask you to buy and sell me,
Is he talking from his throne in the sky?
Ask him if your cruel whips,
And blood-sucking parasites,
Are the means that duty requires
Agents of his desire to utilize.
Listen! he answers—wild tornadoes,
Scattering wrecks across the sea,
Devastating towns, farms, and fields,
Are his communication style.
He, knowing the troubles
That Africa's sons would confront,
Set their tyrants in place,
Where his whirlwinds react—No!
By our blood wasted in Africa,
Before we were chained down;
By the suffering we endured,
Sailing across the ocean in your ships:
By our hardships, since you brought us
To the dehumanizing marketplace,
All sustained by patience, taught to us
Only by a broken heart—
Don't consider our people as beasts any longer,
Until you find some logic,
Worthy of attention and stronger
Than the color of our skin.
Slaves to gold! whose greedy actions
Stain all your claimed abilities;
Show that you have human feelings,
Before you proudly challenge us.
NEGRO BOY SOLD FOR A WATCH.[1]
Words by Cowper. Arranged by G.W.C. from an old theme.
Words by Cowper. Arranged by G.W.C. from an old theme.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
When avarice enslaves the mind,
And selfish views alone bear sway
Man turns a savage to his kind,
And blood and rapine mark his way.
Alas! for this poor simple toy,
I sold the hapless Negro boy.
His father's hope, his mother's pride,
Though black, yet comely to the view
I tore him helpless from their side,
And gave him to a ruffian crew—
To fiends that Afric's coast annoy,
I sold the hapless Negro Boy.
From country, friends, and parents torn,
His tender limbs in chains confined,
I saw him o'er the billows borne,
And marked his agony of mind;
But still to gain this simple toy,
I gave the weeping Negro Boy.
In isles that deck the western wave
I doomed the hapless youth to dwell,
A poor, forlorn, insulted slave!
A beast that christians buy and sell!
And in their cruel tasks employ
The much-enduring Negro Boy.
His wretched parents long shall mourn,
Shall long explore the distant main
In hope to see the youth return;
But all their hopes and sighs are vain:
They never shall the sight enjoy,
Of their lamented Negro Boy.
Beneath a tyrant's harsh command,
He wears away his youthful prime;
Far distant from his native land,
A stranger in a foreign clime.
No pleasing thoughts his mind employ,
A poor, dejected Negro Boy.
But He who walks upon the wind,
Whose voice in thunder's heard on high,
Who doth the raging tempest bind,
And hurl the lightning through the sky,
In his own time will sure destroy
The oppressor of the Negro Boy.
When greed takes over the mind,
And selfish thoughts dominate the day.
A person turns a beast towards their kind,
And violence defines their path.
Oh no! for this poor simple thing,
I sold the unfortunate Black boy.
His father's hope, his mother's pride,
Although black, still attractive to look at.
I tore him helpless from their side,
And gave him to a cruel group—
To monsters that plague Africa's coast,
I sold the unfortunate Black boy.
Separated from country, friends, and parents,
His delicate limbs chained up,
I watched him carried over the waves,
And felt his emotional pain;
But still to gain this simple thing,
I handed over the crying Black boy.
In islands that line the western sea
I sentenced the unfortunate young person to remain,
A poor, abandoned, insulted slave!
A beast that Christians buy and sell!
And in their brutal tasks, they employ
The suffering Black child.
His miserable parents will mourn for long,
Will search the far ocean
In hopes of seeing their son return;
But all their hopes and sighs are pointless:
They will never enjoy the sight,
Of their missing Black boy.
Under a tyrant's cruel command,
He squanders his youth;
Far away from his homeland,
A newcomer in an unfamiliar place.
No joyful thoughts occupy his mind,
A struggling, sad Black boy.
But He who walks upon the wind,
Whose voice roars like thunder above,
Who calms the raging storm,
And sends lightning across the sky,
In His own time will surely destroy
The oppressor of the Black boy.
I AM MONARCH OF NOUGHT I SURVEY.
A Parody. Air "Old Dr. Fleury."
A Parody. Music "Old Dr. Fleury."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
I am monarch of nought I survey,
My wrongs there are none to dispute;
My master conveys me away,
His whims or caprices to suit.
O slavery, where are the charms
That "patriarchs" have seen in thy face;
I dwell in the midst of alarms,
And serve in a horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,
And must finish my life with a groan;
Never hear the sweet music of speech
That tells me my body's my own.
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestowed upon some,
Are blessings I never can prove,
If slavery's my portion to come.
Religion! what treasures untold,
Reside in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver or gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
But I am excluded the light
That leads to this heavenly grace;
The Bible is clos'd to my sight,
Its beauties I never can trace.
Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this sorrowful land,
Some cordial endearing report,
Of freedom from tyranny's hand.
My friends, do they not often send,
A wish or a thought after me?
O, tell me I yet have a friend,
A friend I am anxious to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight;
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light.
When I think of Victoria's domain,
In a moment I seem to be there,
But the fear of being taken again,
Soon hurries me back to despair.
The wood-fowl has gone to her nest,
The beast has lain down in his lair;
To me, there's no season of rest,
Though I to my quarter repair.
If mercy, O Lord, is in store,
For those who in slavery pine;
Grant me when life's troubles are o'er,
A place in thy kingdom divine.
I am the ruler of nothing I see,
There's no one to challenge my mistakes;
My master takes me away,
To satisfy his desires or impulses.
Oh slavery, where are the charms
What is it that "patriarchs" have discovered in you?
I live surrounded by alarms,
And work in a terrible place.
I am out of reach of humanity,
And I must end my life with a sigh;
I’ll never hear the sweet music of speech
That tells me my body belongs to me.
Society, friendship, and love,
God-given to some,
Are blessings I will never know,
If slavery is my destiny.
Religion! what treasures are untold,
That live in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver or gold,
Or anything this world can provide.
But I am denied the light
That leads to this divine grace;
The Bible is closed to my sight,
I can never fully appreciate its beauty.
You winds, that have made me your plaything,
Bring to this sad land,
Some warm, comforting news,
Of liberation from tyranny's grip.
My friends, don’t they often send,
A wish or a thought for me?
Oh, tell me I still have a friend,
A friend I can't wait to see.
How quick is a flash of the mind!
Compared to how quickly it flies;
The storm itself lags behind,
And even the fast arrows of light.
When I think of Victoria's land,
In a moment, I feel like I'm there,
But the fear of being taken again,
Quickly brings me back to despair.
The wood pigeon has gone to her nest,
The beast has made its home in its den;
But to me, there’s no time for rest,
Even when I go back to my place.
If mercy, oh Lord, is there,
For those who are trapped in slavery;
Grant me when my troubles are over,
A spot in your heavenly kingdom.
THE AFRIC’S DREAM.
Words by Miss Chandler. "Emigrant's Lament," arranged by G.W.C.
Words by Miss Chandler. "Emigrant's Lament," arranged by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Why did ye wake me from my sleep? It was a dream of bliss,
And ye have torn me from that land, to pine again in this;
Methought, beneath yon whispering tree, that I was laid to rest,
The turf, with all its with'ring flowers, upon my cold heart pressed.
My chains, these hateful chains, were gone—oh, would that I might die,
So from my swelling pulse I could forever cast them by!
And on, away, o'er land and sea, my joyful spirit passed,
Till, 'neath my own banana tree, I lighted down at last.
My cabin door, with all its flowers, was still profusely gay,
As when I lightly sported there, in childhood's careless day!
But trees that were as sapling twigs, with broad and shadowing bough,
Around the well-known threshhold spread a freshening coolness now.
The birds whose notes I used to hear, were shouting on the earth,
As if to greet me back again with their wild strains of mirth;
My own bright stream was at my feet, and how I laughed to lave
My burning lip, and cheek, and brow, in that delicious wave!
My boy, my first-born babe, had died amid his early hours,
And there we laid him to his sleep among the clustering flowers;
Yet lo! without my cottage-door he sported in his glee,
With her whose grave is far from his, beneath yon linden tree.
I sprang to snatch them to my soul; when breathing out my name,
To grasp my hand, and press my lip, a crowd of loved ones came!
Wife, parents, children, kinsmen, friends! the dear and lost ones all,
With blessed words of welcome came, to greet me from my thrall.
Forms long unseen were by my side; and thrilling on my ear,
Came cadences from gentle tones, unheard for many a year;
And on my cheeks fond lips were pressed, with true affection's kiss—
And so ye waked me from my sleep—but 'twas a dream of bliss!
Why did you wake me from my sleep? I was dreaming of happiness,
And you have pulled me from that place, to suffer again in this;
I thought, beneath that whispering tree, that I was resting,
The grass, with all its wilting flowers, pressed down on my cold heart.
My chains, these hateful chains, were gone—oh, I wish I could die,
So from my pounding pulse I could forever throw them off!
And on, away, over land and sea, my joyful spirit flew,
Until, beneath my own banana tree, I finally landed.
My cabin door, with all its flowers, was still blooming bright,
As when I played there lightly in childhood’s carefree days!
But trees that were like saplings, with wide and shadowy branches,
Now surrounded the familiar threshold with a refreshing coolness.
The birds whose songs I used to hear were singing on the earth,
As if to welcome me back again with their wild, joyful tunes;
My own bright stream was at my feet, and how I laughed to dip
My burning lips, and cheeks, and brow, in that delightful wave!
My boy, my first-born child, had died in his early days,
And there we laid him to rest among the blooming flowers;
Yet look! outside my cottage door he played in his joy,
With her whose grave is far from his, beneath that linden tree.
I rushed to hold them to my heart; as I breathed out my name,
To take my hand, and kiss my lips, a crowd of loved ones came!
Wife, parents, children, relatives, friends! the dear and lost ones all,
With loving words of welcome came, to greet me from my captivity.
Familiar faces long unseen were by my side; and ringing in my ears,
Came melodies from gentle voices, unheard for many years;
And on my cheeks, affectionate lips were pressed, with true love’s kiss—
And so you woke me from my sleep—but it was a dream of bliss!
SONG OF THE COFFLE GANG.[2]
Words by the Slaves. Music by G.W.C.
Lyrics by the Slaves. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
See these poor souls from Africa,
Transported to America;
We are stolen, and sold to Georgia, will you go along with me?
We are stolen and sold to Georgia, go sound the jubilee.
See wives and husbands sold apart,
The children's screams!—it breaks my heart;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
O gracious Lord! when shall it be,
That we poor souls shall all be free?
Lord, break them Slavery powers—will you go along with me?
Lord, break them Slavery powers, go sound the jubilee.
Dear Lord! dear Lord! when Slavery'll cease,
Then we poor souls can have our peace;
There's a better day a coming, will you go along with me?
There's a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.
Look at these unfortunate people from Africa,
Brought to the U.S.;
We’ve been taken and sold to Georgia, will you join me?
We’ve been taken and sold to Georgia, let’s spread the word of freedom.
See wives and husbands ripped apart,
The children's cries! It really breaks my heart;
A brighter day is coming, will you join me?
A brighter day is coming, let’s spread the word of freedom.
Oh gracious Lord! When will it be,
Will we, poor souls, all be free?
Lord, break the powers of slavery—will you join me?
Lord, break the powers of slavery, let’s spread the word of freedom.
Dear Lord! Dear Lord! When will slavery end?
Then we, poor souls, can finally find peace;
A brighter day is coming, will you join me?
A brighter day is coming, let’s spread the word of freedom.
HARK! I HEAR A SOUND OF ANGUISH.
Air, "Calvary."
Air, "Calvary."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Hark! I hear a sound of anguish
In my own, my native land;
Brethren, doomed in chains to languish,
Lift to heaven the suppliant hand,
And despairing,
And despairing,
Death the end of woe demand.
Let us raise our supplication
For the wretched suffering slave,
All whose life is desolation,
All whose hope is in the grave;
God of mercy!
From thy throne, O hear and save.
Those in bonds we would remember
As if we with them were bound;
For each crushed, each suffering member
Let our sympathies abound,
Till our labors
Spread the smiles of freedom round.
Even now the word is spoken;
"Slavery's cruel power must cease,
From the bound the chain be broken,
Captives hail the kind release,"
While in splendor
Comes to reign the Prince of Peace.
Listen! I hear a sound of suffering
In my own country;
Brothers, trapped in chains and suffering,
Lift your pleading hands to the sky,
And in distress,
And in hopelessness,
Demand that death brings an end to the suffering.
Let’s raise our prayers
For the suffering slave,
All whose lives are filled with despair,
All those whose hope rests in the grave;
God of mercy!
Hear us from your throne and save us.
Let us remember those in chains
As if we were tied down ourselves;
For every crushed, every suffering soul,
Let our kindness shine,
Until we try
Share the joy of freedom everywhere.
Even now the word is being spoken;
"Slavery's brutal power must end,"
The chains of the bound must be broken,
Captives celebrate their release.
As the Peace Prince
Reigns in glory.
BROTHERS BE BRAVE FOR THE PINING SLAVE.
Air—"Sparkling and Bright."
Air—"Fresh and Luminous."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Solo.
Heavy and cold in his dungeon hold,
Is the yoke of the oppressor;
Dark o'er the soul is the fell control
Of the stern and dread transgressor.
Chorus.
Oh then come all to bring the thrall
Up from his deep despairing,
And out of the jaw of the bandit's law,
Retake the prey he's tearing:
O then come all to bring the thrall
Up from his deep despairing,
And out of the jaw of the bandit's law,
Retake the prey he's tearing.
Brothers be brave for the pining slave,
From his wife and children riven;
From every vale their bitter wail
Goes sounding up to Heaven.
Then for the life of that poor wife,
And for those children pining;
O ne'er give o'er till the chains no more
Around their limbs are twining.
Gloomy and damp is the low rice swamp,
Where their meagre bands are wasting;
All worn and weak, in vain they seek
For rest, to the cool shade hasting;
For drivers fell, like fiends from hell,
Cease not their savage shouting;
And the scourge's crack, from quivering back,
Sends up the red blood spouting.
Into the grave looks only the slave,
For rest to his limbs aweary;
His spirit's light comes from that night,
To us so dark and dreary.
That soul shall nurse its heavy curse
Against a day of terror,
When the lightning gleam of his wrath shall stream
Like fire, on the hosts of error.
Heavy and stern are the bolts which burn
In the right hand of Jehovah;
To smite the strong red arm of wrong,
And dash his temples over;
Then on amain to rend the chain,
Ere bursts the vallied thunder;
Right onward speed till the slave is freed—
His manacles torn asunder.
Solo.
Heavy and cold in his dungeon hold,
Is the burden of the oppressor;
Dark over the soul is the cruel control
Of the serious and frightening offender.
Chorus.
Oh, then everyone come to free the captive.
Out of his deep despair,
And away from the control of the bandit's rule,
Take back the prey he's tearing apart:
O then come everyone to free the captive
Out of his deep despair,
And free from the control of the bandit's law,
Retrieve the prey he’s ripping apart.
Brothers be brave for the suffering slave,
Separated from his wife and kids;
From every valley their bitter cries
Rise to Heaven.
Then for the life of that poor wife,
And for those kids suffering;
Oh, never give up until the chains are gone.
From around their limbs intertwining.
Gloomy and damp is the low rice swamp,
Where their vulnerable groups are deteriorating;
All worn and weak, in vain they seek
For relaxation, hurrying to the cool shade;
For ruthless drivers, like demons from hell,
Don't silence their wild shouting;
And the crack of the whip from trembling backs,
Makes the blood gush out.
Into the grave looks only the slave,
Looking for rest for his tired limbs;
His spirit's light comes from that night,
That feels really dark and gloomy to us.
That soul will carry its heavy burden.
Before a day of reckoning,
When the burst of his anger will hit
Like fire against the forces of evil.
Heavy and stern are the bolts which burn
In God's right hand;
To strike the strong red arm of wrong,
And break its defenses;
Then hurry to break the chain,
Before the thunder breaks;
Keep pushing forward until the slave is free—
His shackles are torn apart.
E.D.H.
E.D.H.
THE QUADROON MAIDEN.
Words by Longfellow. Theme from the Indian Maid.
Words by Longfellow. Theme from the Indian Maid.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
The Slaver in the broad lagoon,
Lay moored with idle sail;
He waited for the rising moon,
And for the evening gale.
The Planter under his roof of thatch,
Smoked thoughtfully and slow;
The Slaver's thumb was on the latch,
He seemed in haste to go.
He said, "My ship at anchor rides
In yonder broad lagoon;
I only wait the evening tides,
And the rising of the moon."
Before them, with her face upraised,
In timid attitude,
Like one half curious, half amazed,
A Quadroon maiden stood.
And on her lips there played a smile
As holy, meek, and faint,
As lights, in some cathedral aisle,
The features of a saint.
"The soil is barren, the farm is old,"
The thoughtful Planter said,
Then looked upon the Slaver's gold,
And then upon the maid.
His heart within him was at strife,
With such accursed gains;
For he knew whose passions gave her life,
Whose blood ran in her veins.
But the voice of nature was too weak:
He took the glittering gold!
Then pale as death grew the maiden's cheek,
Her hands as icy cold.
The Slaver led her from the door,
He led her by the hand,
To be his slave and paramour
In a far and distant land.
The slave ship in the wide lagoon,
Was anchored with sails lowered;
He was waiting for the rising moon,
And for the evening air.
The planter under his thatched roof,
Smoked slowly and deliberately;
The slaver had his thumb on the latch,
He looked ready to go.
He said, "My ship is anchored
In that vast lagoon;
I only wait for the evening tide,
"And the moon's ascent."
Before them, with her face tilted up,
In a defensive stance,
Like someone half curious, half amazed,
A mixed-race girl stood.
And on her lips there was a smile
That was soft, calm, and subtle,
Like lights in a cathedral aisle,
Saintly qualities.
"The soil is poor, the farm is old,"
The mindful gardener said,
Then glanced at the slaver's gold,
And then at the girl.
His heart was conflicted inside,
With such cursed gains;
For he knew whose desires brought her life,
Whose blood ran through her veins.
But the voice of nature was too weak:
He took the shiny gold!
Then pale as death grew the girl's cheeks,
Her hands were freezing.
The slaver took her by the door,
He took her hand,
To be his slave and lover
In a faraway land.
Domestic Bliss.
BY REV. JAMES GREGG.
BY REV. JAMES GREGG.
Domestic bliss; thou fairest flower
That erst in Eden grew,
Dear relic of the happy bower,
Our first grand parents knew!
We hail thee in the rugged soil
Of this waste wilderness,
To cheer our way and cheat our toil,
With gleams of happiness.
In thy mild light we travel on,
And smile at toil and pain;
And think no more of Eden gone,
For Eden won again.
Such, Emily, the bliss, the joy
By Heaven bestowed on you;
A husband kind, a lovely boy,
A father fond and true.
Religion adds her cheering beams,
And sanctifies these ties;
And sheds o'er all the brighter gleams,
She borrows from the skies.
But ah! reflect; are all thus blest?
Hath home such charms for all?
Can such delights as these invest
Foul slavery's wretched thrall?
Can those be happy in these ties
Who wear her galling chain?
Or taste the blessed charities
That in the household reign?
Can those be blest, whose hope, whose life,
Hang on a tyrant's nod;
To whom nor husband, child, nor wife
Are known—yea, scarcely God?
Whose ties may all be rudely riven,
At avarice' fell behest;
Whose only hope of home is heaven,
The grave their only rest.
Oh! think of those, the poor, th' oppressed,
In your full hour of bliss;
Nor e'er from prayer and effort rest,
While earth bears woe like this.
Domestic happiness; you are the sweetest flower
That once bloomed in paradise,
A cherished reminder of the joyful home
Our first ancestors knew!
We welcome you in the harsh soil
Of this desolate wilderness,
To brighten our path and ease our work,
With moments of joy.
In your gentle light we continue on,
And smile through hard work and pain;
And forget that Eden is lost,
For we have regained Eden.
Such is, Emily, the bliss, the joy
Blessed by Heaven;
A caring husband, a lovely boy,
A caring and honest dad.
Religion brings her uplifting light,
And blesses these connections;
And shines upon all with brighter rays,
She draws inspiration from the skies.
But oh! think; are all truly blessed?
Does home have such appeals for everyone?
Can such joys as these wrap
The cruel shackles of slavery?
Can those be happy in these connections
Who is wearing her heavy chains?
Or experience the blessed love
Who’s in charge at home?
Can those be blessed, whose hope, whose life,
Rely on a tyrant's whims;
To whom neither husband, child, nor wife
Are known—hardly even God?
Whose bonds may all be brutally broken,
At greed's harsh command;
Whose only hope of home is heaven,
The grave is their only peace.
Oh! remember those, the poor, the oppressed,
In your happy moments;
And never cease from prayer and effort,
While the Earth suffers like this.
O PITY THE SLAVE MOTHER.
Words from the Liberator. Air, Araby's Daughter.
Words from the Liberator. Air, Araby's Daughter.
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I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary,
Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast;
I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary,
I lament for her woes, and her wrongs unredressed.
O who can imagine her heart's deep emotion,
As she thinks of her children about to be sold;
You may picture the bounds of the rock-girdled ocean,
But the grief of that mother can never be known.
[Pg 33]The mildew of slavery has blighted each blossom,
That ever has bloomed in her pathway below;
It has froze every fountain that gushed in her bosom,
And chilled her heart's verdure with pitiless woe:
Her parents, her kindred, all crushed by oppression;
Her husband still doomed in its desert to stay;
No arm to protect from the tyrant's aggression—
She must weep as she treads on her desolate way.
O, slave-mother, hope! see—the nation is shaking!
The arm of the Lord is awake to thy wrong!
The slave-holder's heart now with terror is quaking
Salvation and Mercy to Heaven belong!
Rejoice, O rejoice! for the child thou art rearing,
May one day lift up its unmanacled form,
While hope, to thy heart, like the rain-bow so cheering,
Is born, like the rain-bow, 'mid tempest and storm.
I feel sorry for the slave mother, worn out and tired,
She sighs as she holds her baby close to her chest;
I mourn her sad fate, so bleak and dreary,
I feel sorry for her struggles and the injustices she's faced that haven't been resolved.
Oh, who can imagine the depth of her heartache,
As she thinks about her children who are about to be sold;
You might picture the limits of the ocean bordered by rocks,
But that mother's pain can never be completely understood.
[Pg 33]The blight of slavery has ruined every flower,
That has always blossomed along her way;
It has frozen every spring that flowed from her heart,
And filled her with endless sadness:
Her parents, her relatives, all crushed by injustice;
Her husband is still stuck in this desolate place;
No one to protect her from the oppressor’s attack—
She has to weep as she walks her lonely path.
Oh, slave-mother, have faith! Look—the nation is awakening!
The power of the Lord is responding to your suffering!
The slaveholder’s heart now shakes with fear,
Salvation and Mercy come from Heaven!
Rejoice, oh rejoice! For the child you are raising,
May one day rise up free from chains,
While hope, in your heart, shines like a bright rainbow,
Born, like the rainbow, amid tempest and storm.
How long! O! how long!
How long will the friend of the slave plead in vain?
How long e'er the Christian will loosen the chain?
If he, by our efforts, more hardened should be,
O Father, forgive him! we trust but in thee.
That 'we're all free and equal,' how senseless the cry,
While millions in bondage are groaning so nigh!
O where is our freedom? equality where?
To this none can answer, but echo cries, where?
O'er this stain on our country we'd fain draw a veil,
But history's page will proclaim the sad tale,
That Christians, unblushing, could shout 'we are free,'
Whilst they the oppressors of millions could be.
They can feel for themselves, for the Pole they can feel,
Towards Afric's children their hearts are like steel;
They are deaf to their call, to their wrongs they are blind;
In error they slumber nor seek truth to find.
Though scorn and oppression on our pathway attend,
Despised and reviled, we the slave will befriend;
Our Father, thy blessing! we look but to thee,
Nor cease from our labors till all shall be free.
Should mobs in their fury with missiles assail,
The cause it is righteous, the truth will prevail;
Then heed not their clamors, though loud they proclaim
That freedom shall slumber, and slavery reign.
How long will the friend of the slave argue in vain?
How long before Christians will break the chains?
If he, through our efforts, becomes even more hardened,
Oh Father, forgive him! we only trust in you.
“It's all about being free and equal,” what a foolish claim,
While millions in bondage are suffering so close!
Oh, where is our freedom? Where is equality?
No one can answer this, but the echo asks, where?
Over this stain on our country, we’d like to cover it up,
But history's pages will tell the sad story,
That Christians, without shame, could shout "we are free,"
While being the oppressors of millions at the same time.
They can empathize for themselves, they care for the Pole,
But their hearts are like steel towards Africa's children;
They are deaf to their cries and blind to their wrongs;
In ignorance they sleep and don’t seek the truth.
Though scorn and oppression surround our path,
Rejected and ridiculed, we will befriend the slave;
Our Father, we seek your blessing! we look only to you,
And we won’t stop our work until all are free.
If mobs attack us in their fury,
The cause is just, and the truth will prevail;
So ignore their shouts, though loudly they claim
That freedom will sleep and slavery will rule.
THE FUGITIVE SLAVE TO THE CHRISTIAN.
Words by Elizur Wright, jr. Music arranged from Cracovienne.
Words by Elizur Wright, Jr. Music arranged from Cracovienne.
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The fetters galled my weary soul,—
A soul that seemed but thrown away;
I spurned the tyrant's base control,
Resolved at last the man to play:—
Chorus.
The hounds are baying on my track;
O Christian! will you send me back?
The hounds are baying on my track;
O Christian! will you send me back?
I felt the stripes, the lash I saw,
Red, dripping with a father's gore;
And, worst of all their lawless law,
The insults that my mother bore!
The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me back?
Where human law o'errules Divine,
Beneath the sheriff's hammer fell
My wife and babes,—I call them mine,—
And where they suffer, who can tell?
The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me back?
I seek a home where man is man,
If such there be upon this earth,
[Pg 36]To draw my kindred, if I can,
Around its free, though humble hearth.
The hounds are baying on my track,
O Christian! will you send me back!
The chains hurt my tired soul,—
A soul that felt completely discarded;
I rejected the tyrant's terrible control,
Determined at last to be a true man:—
Chorus.
The dogs are barking behind me;
O Christian! Will you send me back?
The dogs are barking behind me;
O Christian! Will you return me?
I felt the stripes, the whip I saw,
Red, dripping with a father's blood;
And, worst of all their unlawful law,
The insults that my mother endured!
The dogs are barking after me,
O Christian! Will you send me back?
Where human law overrides Divine,
Under the sheriff's hammer fell
My wife and children,—I call them mine,—
And where they suffer, who can say?
The dogs are barking behind me,
Hey Christian! Are you going to send me back?
I'm searching for a home where man is truly a man,
If such a place exists on this earth,
[Pg 36]To gather my loved ones, if I can,
Around its free, though modest hearth.
The dogs are barking as they追 after me,
O Christian! Will you send me back!
The Strength of Tyranny.
The tyrant's chains are only strong
While slaves submit to wear them;
And, who could bind them on the strong,
Determined not to wear them?
Then clank your chains, e'en though the links
Were light as fashion's feather:
The heart which rightly feels and thinks
Would cast them altogether.
The lords of earth are only great
While others clothe and feed them!
But what were all their pride and state
Should labor cease to heed them?
The swain is higher than a king:
Before the laws of nature,
The monarch were a useless thing,
The swain a useless creature.
We toil, we spin, we delve the mine,
Sustaining each his neighbor;
And who can hold a right divine
To rob us of our labor?
We rush to battle—bear our lot
In every ill and danger—
And who shall make the peaceful cot
To homely joy a stranger?
Perish all tyrants far and near,
Beneath the chains that bind us;
And perish too that servile fear
Which makes the slaves they find us:
One grand, one universal claim—
One peal of moral thunder—
One glorious burst in Freedom's name,
And rend our bonds asunder!
The tyrant's chains are only strong
While slaves consent to wear them;
And who could put them on the strong,
What if they are set on not wearing them?
So rattle your chains, even if the links
Are as light as a feather in fashion:
The heart that truly feels and thinks
Would throw them all out.
The rulers of the earth are only great
While others take care of them!
But what would all their pride and status be
What if the workers stopped caring for them?
The laborer is above a king:
Before nature's laws,
The monarch would be useless,
The laborer is a useless being.
We work, we spin, we dig the mines,
Having each other’s backs;
And who has the right to claim
To take our jobs?
We rush into battle—bear our load
In every trouble and risk—
And who will turn the peaceful home
Into an unexpected place of happiness?
Let all tyrants perish far and wide,
Under the chains that hold us back;
And let that servile fear perish too
Which makes us the slaves they discover us to be:
One grand, one universal demand—
One thunderous moral roar—
One glorious cry in Freedom's name,
And free us from our chains!
THE BLIND SLAVE BOY.
Words by Mrs. Dr. Bailey. Music arranged from Sweet Afton.
Lyrics by Mrs. Dr. Bailey. Music arranged from Sweet Afton.
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Come back to me mother! why linger away
From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day!
I mark every footstep, I list to each tone,
And wonder my mother should leave me alone!
There are voices of sorrow, and voices of glee,
But there's no one to joy or to sorrow with me;
For each hath of pleasure and trouble his share,
And none for the poor little blind boy will care.
My mother, come back to me! close to thy breast
Once more let thy poor little blind one be pressed;
Once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek,
And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak!
O mother! I've no one to love me—no heart
Can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part,
No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind,
Oh! none like a mother can cherish the blind!
Poor blind one! No mother thy wailing can hear,
No mother can hasten to banish thy fear;
For the slave-owner drives her, o'er mountain and wild,
And for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child!
Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal
The anguish that none but a mother can feel,
When man in his vile lust of mammon hath trod
On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God!
Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone,
She hears in her anguish his piteous moan;
As he eagerly listens—but listens in vain,
To catch the loved tones of his mother again!
The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall
On the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall,
And his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy,
Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy!
Come back to me, Mom! Why stay away
From your poor little blind boy all day long?
I notice every footstep, I listen to each sound,
And I wonder why my mom would leave me alone!
There are voices of sadness and voices of joy,
But no one to share my happiness or my pain;
For everyone has a bit of pleasure and trouble to bear,
And no one cares for the poor little blind boy.
Mom, come back to me! Hold me close to your heart
Once again, let your poor little blind one feel your embrace;
Let me feel your warm breath on my cheek,
And hear your gentle voice speaking to me!
Oh, Mom! I have no one to love me—no heart
Can share in my sorrows like yours can,
No hand is as gentle, no voice as kind,
Oh! No one can cherish the blind like a mother!
Poor blind one! No mother hears your cries,
No mother can rush to take away your fear;
The slave-owner drives her, over mountains and wilderness,
And for a mere dollar has sold you, poor child!
Ah! Who can truly express
The pain that only a mother can feel,
When man, in his greedy lust for money, has trampled
On her child, who is hurt and afflicted by fate!
Blind, powerless, abandoned, alone with strangers,
She hears his heartbreaking cries in her despair;
As he listens eagerly—but listens in vain,
To hear the beloved sounds of his mother again!
The curse of the crushed spirit will fall
On the wretch who mixed this bitterness and grief,
And his profit will wither and ruin,
For having ripped away the little blind boy from his mother!
SLAVE’S WRONGS.
Words by Miss Chandler. Arranged from "Rose of Allandale."
Words by Miss Chandler. Adapted from "Rose of Allandale."
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With aching brow and wearied limb,
The slave his toil pursued;
And oft I saw the cruel scourge
Deep in his blood imbrued;
He tilled oppression's soil where men
For liberty had bled,
And the eagle wing of Freedom waved
In mockery, o'er his head.
The earth was filled with the triumph shout
Of men who had burst their chains;
But his, the heaviest of them all,
Still lay on his burning veins;
In his master's hall there was luxury,
And wealth, and mental light;
But the very book of the Christian law,
Was hidden from his sight.
In his master's halls there was wine and mirth,
And songs for the newly free;
But his own low cabin was desolate
Of all but misery.
[Pg 42]He felt it all—and to bitterness
His heart within him turned;
While the panting wish for liberty,
Like a fire in his bosom burned.
The haunting thought of his wrongs grew changed
To a darker and fiercer hue,
Till the horrible shape it sometimes wore
At last familiar grew;
There was darkness all within his heart,
And madness in his soul;
And the demon spark, in his bosom nursed,
Blazed up beyond control.
Then came a scene! oh! such a scene!
I would I might forget
The ringing sound of the midnight scream,
And the hearth-stone redly wet!
The mother slain while she shrieked in vain
For her infant's threatened life;
And the flying form of the frighted child,
Struck down by the bloody knife.
There's many a heart that yet will start
From its troubled sleep, at night,
As the horrid form of the vengeful slave
Comes in dreams before the sight.
The slave was crushed, and his fetters' link
Drawn tighter than before;
And the bloody earth again was drenched
With the streams of his flowing gore.
Ah! know they not, that the tightest band
Must burst with the wildest power?—
That the more the slave is oppressed and wronged,
Will be fiercer his rising hour?
They may thrust him back with the arm of might,
They may drench the earth with his blood—
But the best and purest of their own,
Will blend with the sanguine flood.
I could tell thee more—but my strength is gone,
And my breath is wasting fast;
Long ere the darkness to-night has fled,
Will my life from the earth have passed:
But this, the sum of all I have learned,
Ere I go I will tell to thee;—
If tyrants would hope for tranquil hearts,
They must let the oppressed go free.
With a throbbing head and tired limbs,
The slave kept working hard;
And often I saw the cruel whip
Soaked in his blood;
He tended the ground of oppression where men
Had fought and bled for freedom,
And the eagle wings of Liberty waved
Mocking him from above.
The earth echoed with the victory shouts
Of those who had freed themselves from their chains;
But his, the heaviest of them all,
Still rested upon his burning veins;
In his master's house there was luxury,
And wealth, and knowledge;
But the very book of Christian teachings,
Was kept out of his sight.
In his master's halls, there was wine and laughter,
And songs for those who have just been freed;
But his own humble cabin was empty
Except for suffering.
[Pg 42]He felt it all—and to bitterness
He felt weighed down;
While the aching desire for freedom,
It felt like a fire in his chest.
The haunting awareness of his wrongs grew darker
And adopted a harsher tone,
Until the horrific shape it sometimes took
Eventually got familiar;
There was darkness in his heart,
And madness in his soul;
And the demon spark, nurtured in his chest,
Got out of control.
Then came a scene! Oh, what a scene!
I wish I could forget.
The chilling sound of the midnight scream,
And the fireplace stained red!
The mother killed while she cried out in vain
For her child's endangered life;
And the fleeing form of the terrified child,
Attacked by a bloody knife.
There are many hearts that still will start
From their restless sleep at night,
As the horrifying image of the vengeful slave
Shows up in dreams before their eyes.
The slave was crushed, and the links of his chains
Tightened further;
And the bloody earth was soaked once again
With the streams of his flowing blood.
Ah! Do they not know that the tightest bond
Must break with the greatest strength?—
That the more the slave is oppressed and wronged,
How intense will his moment of uprising be?
They may push him back with brute strength,
They might drench the ground with his blood—
But the best and purest among them,
Will mix with the bloody flood.
I could tell you more—but my strength is gone,
And my breath is fading quickly;
Long before darkness has fled tonight,
My life will have left this earth:
But this, the essence of all I have learned,
Before I leave, I want to share with you;—
If tyrants wish to have peaceful hearts,
They must let the oppressed be free.
MY CHILD IS GONE.
Music by G.W.C.
Music by G.W.C.
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Hark! from the winds a voice of woe,
The wild Atlantic in its flow,
Bears on its breast the murmur low,
My child is gone!
Like savage tigers o'er their prey,
They tore him from my heart away;
And now I cry, by night by day—
My child is gone!
How many a free-born babe is press'd
With fondness to its mother's breast,
And rocked upon her arms to rest,
While mine is gone!
No longer now, at eve I see,
Beneath the sheltering plantain tree,
My baby cradled on my knee,
For he is gone!
And when I seek my cot at night,
There's not a thing that meets my sight,
But tells me that my soul's delight,
My child, is gone!
I sink to sleep, and then I seem
To hear again his parting scream
I start and wake—'tis but a dream—
My child is gone!
Gone—till my toils and griefs are o'er,
And I shall reach that happy shore,
Where negro mothers cry no more—
My child is gone!
Listen! from the winds comes a voice of sorrow,
The wild Atlantic in its flow,
Carries on its waves a soft whisper,
My kid is gone!
Like fierce tigers over their prey,
They ripped him from my heart;
And now I cry, night and day—
My kid is gone!
How many a free-born baby is held
With love against its mother’s chest,
And rocked in her arms to sleep,
While mine is gone!
No longer now, at dusk I see,
Beneath the sheltering plantain tree,
My baby cradled on my lap,
He's gone!
And when I go to my home at night,
There's nothing that I see,
Except reminders that my soul's joy,
My child is gone!
I sink into sleep, and then I feel
As if I hear his parting scream
I start and wake—it's just a dream—
My child is missing!
Gone—until my struggles and sorrows are over,
And I reach that happy shore,
Where grieving mothers cry no more—
My child's gone!
COMFORT IN AFFLICTION.
Words by William Leggett. Music by G.W.C.
Words by William Leggett. Music by G.W.C.
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If yon bright stars which gem the night,
Be each a blissful dwelling sphere,
Where kindred spirits reunite
Whom death has torn asunder here,
How sweet it were at once to die,
And leave this blighted orb afar!
Mix soul with soul to cleave the sky,
And soar away from star to star!
But oh! how dark, how drear, how lone,
Would seem the brightest world of bliss,
If, wandering through each radiant one,
We failed to find the loved of this!
If there no more the ties should twine,
Which Death's cold hand alone can sever,
Ah! then those stars in mockery shine,
More hateful as they shine forever!
It cannot be—each hope and fear,
That lights the eye or clouds the brow,
Proclaims there is a happier sphere
Than this bleak world that holds us now!
There is a voice which sorrow hears,
When heaviest weighs life's galling chain,
'Tis heaven that whispers, "dry thy tears,
The pure in heart shall meet again."
If those bright stars that decorate the night,
Are each a happy place for souls,
Where kindred spirits come together
Whom death has separated now,
How nice it would be to die right away,
And leave this cursed world behind!
Mix soul with soul to break the sky,
And fly from star to star!
But oh! how dark, how sad, how lonely,
It would seem like the brightest world of joy,
If, wandering through each shining one,
We couldn't find the people we care about!
If there the bonds should no longer exist,
Only Death's cold hand can break this.
Ah! then those stars would shine in mockery,
Even more despicable as they shine endlessly!
It can't be—each hope and fear,
That brings joy or creates worry,
Proclaims there is a happier realm
Than this tough world we live in now!
There is a voice that sorrow hears,
When the burdens of life hold us back,
It's heaven that whispers, "dry your tears,
"The pure in heart will meet again."
The Poor Little Slave.
FROM "THE CHARTER OAK."
FROM "THE CHARTER OAK."
O pity the poor little slave,
Who labors hard through all the day—
And has no one,
When day is done,
To teach his youthful heart to pray.
No words of love—no fond embrace—
No smiles from parents kind and dear;
No tears are shed
Around his bed,
When fevers rage, and death is near.
None feel for him when heavy chains
Are fastened to his tender limb;
No pitying eyes,
No sympathies,
No prayers are raised to heaven for him.
Yes I will pity the poor slave,
And pray that he may soon be free;
That he at last,
When days are past,
In heaven may have his liberty.
Oh, feel for the poor little slave,
Who works hard all day long—
And hasn’t anyone,
When the day is over,
To help his young heart learn to pray.
No words of love—no warm embrace—
No smiles from loving parents;
No tears are shed.
Around his bed,
When fevers run high and death is near.
No one feels for him when heavy chains
Are secured around his gentle arm;
No empathetic eyes,
No sympathy,
No prayers were sent up to heaven for him.
Yes, I will feel for the poor slave,
And hope that he will be free soon;
That he finally,
When his time is up,
In heaven, he may find his freedom.
THE BEREAVED MOTHER.
Words by Jesse Hutchinson. Air, "Kathleen O'Moore."
Words by Jesse Hutchinson. Air, "Kathleen O'Moore."
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Oh deep was the anguish of the slave mother's heart,
When called from her darling for ever to part;
So grieved that lone mother, that heart broken mother,
In sorrow and woe.
The lash of the master her deep sorrows mock,
While the child of her bosom is sold on the block;
Yet loud shrieked that mother, poor heart broken mother,
In sorrow and woe.
The babe in return, for its fond mother cries,
While the sound of their wailings together arise;
They shriek for each other, the child and the mother,
In sorrow and woe.
The harsh auctioneer to sympathy cold,
Tears the babe from its mother and sells it for gold;
While the infant and mother, loud shriek for each other,
In sorrow and woe.
At last came the parting of mother and child,
Her brain reeled with madness, that mother was wild;
Then the lash could not smother the shrieks of that mother,
Of sorrow and woe.
The child was borne off to a far distant clime,
While the mother was left in anguish to pine;
But reason departed, and she sank broken hearted,
In sorrow and woe.
That poor mourning mother, of reason bereft,
Soon ended her sorrows and sank cold in death:
Thus died that slave mother, poor heart broken mother,
In sorrow and woe.
Oh! list ye kind mothers to the cries of the slave;
The parents and children implore you to save;
Go! rescue the mothers, the sisters and brothers,
From sorrow and woe.
Oh, how deep was the pain in the slave mother's heart,
When she was called away from her darling, never to part again;
So heartbroken was that lonely mother,
In sadness and despair.
The master's whip only mocked her deep sorrows,
While the child she loved was sold on the block;
Yet that mother screamed loudly, poor heartbroken mother,
In sadness and hopelessness.
The baby cried out for its loving mother,
While their wails mixed together in the air;
They both cried out for each other, the child and the mother,
In sorrow and hopelessness.
The cruel auctioneer, indifferent to their pain,
Tore the baby from its mother and sold it for money;
While the infant and mother shouted for each other,
In sadness and hopelessness.
Finally came the parting of mother and child,
Her mind spun with madness, that mother was wild;
Then the whip couldn't silence the screams of that mother,
In sadness and despair.
The child was taken off to a faraway place,
While the mother was left to suffer in anguish;
But her reason faded, and she fell, heartbroken,
In sorrow and hopelessness.
That poor grieving mother, lost in her thoughts,
Soon ended her suffering and sank cold in death:
Thus died that slave mother, poor heartbroken mother,
In sadness and despair.
Oh! listen, kind mothers, to the cries of the slaves;
Parents and children plead with you to save;
Go! rescue the mothers, the sisters, and brothers,
From sadness and hopelessness.
HEARD YE THAT CRY.
From "Wind of the Winter night."
From "Wind of the Winter Night."
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Heard ye that cry! Twas the wail of a slave,
As he sank in despair, to the rest of the grave;
Behold him where bleeding and prostrate he lies,
Unfriended he lived, and unpitied he died.
The white man oppressed him—the white man for gold,
Made him toil amidst tortures that cannot be told;
He robbed him, and spoiled him, of all that was dear,
And made him the prey of affliction and fear.
But his anguish was seen, and his wailings were heard,
By the Lord God of Hosts; whose vengeance deferred,
Gathers force by delay, and with fury will burst,
On his impious oppressor—the tyrant accurst!
Arouse ye, arouse ye! ye generous and brave,
Plead the rights of the poor—plead the cause of the slave;
Nor cease your exertions till broken shall be
The fetters that bind him, and the slave shall be free.
Did you hear that cry? It was the wail of a slave,
As he sank in despair, heading to his grave;
Look at him where he lies, bleeding and broken,
He lived without friends, and died without compassion.
The white man oppressed him—for money and greed,
Made him work through tortures that can't be described;
He robbed him of everything dear to his heart,
And turned him into prey for suffering and fear.
But his pain was noticed, and his cries were heard,
By the Lord God of Hosts; whose delayed vengeance,
Gathers strength through time, and will erupt with fury,
On his wicked oppressor—the cursed tyrant!
Wake up, wake up! you generous and brave,
Defend the rights of the poor—fight for the slave;
Don't stop your efforts until the chains are broken,
And the slave is finally free.
Sleep on my Child.
BY R.J.H.
BY R.J.H.
Sleep on, my child, in peaceful rest,
While lovely visions round thee play;
No care or grief has touched thy breast,
Thy life is yet a cloudless day.
Far distant is my childhood's home—
No mother's smiles—no father's care!
Oh! how I'd love again to roam,
Where once my little playmates were!
Sleep on, thou hast not felt the chain;
But though 'tis yet unmingled joy,
I may not see those smiles again,
Nor clasp thee to my breast, my boy.
And must I see thee toil and bleed!
Thy manly soul in fetters tied;
'Twill wring thy mother's heart indeed—
Oh! would to God that I had died!
That soul God's own bright image bears—
But oh! no tongue thy woes can tell;
Thy lot is cast in blood and tears,
And soon these lips must say—farewell!
Sleep on, my child, in peaceful rest,
While lovely dreams surround you;
No care or grief has touched your heart,
Your life is still a bright, clear day.
Far away is my childhood home—
No mother's smiles—no father's care!
Oh! how I’d love to wander again,
Where my little friends once were!
Sleep on, you haven't felt the chains;
But even though it’s all joy for now,
I may never see those smiles again,
Nor hold you close, my boy.
And must I watch you struggle and bleed!
Your strong soul bound in chains;
It will surely break your mother’s heart—
Oh! I wish I had died instead!
That soul bears God’s own bright image—
But oh! no words can tell your pain;
Your fate is filled with blood and tears,
And soon these lips must say—farewell!
ZAZA—THE FEMALE SLAVE.
Words by Miss Ball. Music by G.W.C.
Words by Miss Ball. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
O my country, my country! how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Where the sweet Joliba kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander by thee never more?
Where the sweet Joliba kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander by thee never more?
O my country, my country! how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Say, O fond Zurima,
Where dost thou stay?
Say, doth another
List to thy sweet lay?
Say, doth the orange still
Bloom near our cot?
Zurima, Zurima,
Am I forgot?
O, my country, my country! how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Under the baobab
Oft have I slept,
Fanned by sweet breezes
That over me swept.
Often in dreams
Do my weary limbs lay
'Neath the same baobab,
Far, far away,
O my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
O for the breath
Of our own waving palm,
Here, as I languish,
My spirit to calm—
O for a draught
From our own cooling lake,
Brought by sweet mother,
My spirit to wake.
O my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Oh my country, my country! how long I yearn for you,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Where the sweet Joliba greets the shore,
Tell me, will I wander by you nevermore?
Where the sweet Joliba greets the shore,
Tell me, will I wander by you nevermore?
Oh my country, my country! how long I yearn for you,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Tell me, oh dear Zurima,
Where are you at now?
Tell me, does someone else
Listen to your favorite song?
Tell me, does the orange still __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__?
Bloom close to our place?
Zurima, Zurima,
Am I forgotten?
Oh, my country, my country! how long I yearn for you,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Under the baobab tree
I have often napped,
Fanned by soft breezes
That washed over me.
Often in dreams
Do my tired limbs lie
Beneath the same baobab,
So distant,
Oh my country, my country, how long I yearn for you,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
Oh for the air
Of our own waving palm tree,
Here, as I wait,
To soothe my soul—
Oh, for a drink!
From our own chilled lake,
Brought by loving mom,
To uplift my spirit.
Oh my country, my country, how long I yearn for you,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.
PRAYER FOR THE SLAVE.
Tune—Hamburgh.
Song—Hamburg.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Oh let the pris'ner's mournful sighs
As incense in thy sight appear!
Their humble wailings pierce the skies,
If haply they may feel thee near.
The captive exiles make their moans,
From sin impatient to be free;
Call home, call home, thy banished ones!
Lead captive their captivity!
Out of the deep regard their cries,
The fallen raise, the mourners cheer,
Oh, Son of Righteousness, arise,
And scatter all their doubts and fear.
Stand by them in the fiery hour,
Their feebleness of mind defend;
And in their weakness show thy power,
And make them patient to the end.
Relieve the souls whose cross we bear,
For whom thy suffering members mourn:
Answer our faith's effectual prayer;
And break the yoke so meekly borne!
Oh, let the prisoner's sad sighs
Looks like incense in your view!
Their humble cries reach up to the skies,
Hoping they can feel you close by.
The captive exiles let out their moans,
Eager to be free from sin;
Call home, call home, your banished ones!
Restore their lost freedom!
They cry out from the depths,
The grieving are supported, the ones left behind find solace,
Oh, Son of Righteousness, rise up,
And dispel all their doubts and fears.
Stand by them in the fiery hour,
Protect their vulnerable minds;
And in their weakness show your strength,
And help them stay patient until the end.
Relieve the souls whose burdens we share,
For those who hear the cries of your suffering members;
Respond to our faithful prayer;
And lift the burden they carry so gently!
Remembering that God is just.
Oh righteous God! whose awful frown
Can crumble nations to the dust,
Trembling we stand before thy throne,
When we reflect that thou art just.
Dost thou not see the dreadful wrong,
Which Afric's injured race sustains?
And wilt thou not arise ere long,
To plead their cause, and break their chains?
Must not thine anger quickly rise
Against the men whom lust controls,
Who dare thy righteous laws despise
And traffic in the blood of souls?
Oh righteous God! whose terrifying glare
Can bring countries to their knees,
We stand trembling before your throne,
Knowing you are fair.
Do you not see the terrible wrong,
That Africa's oppressed people suffer?
And will you not rise soon,
To support them and free them from their bonds?
Must your anger not quickly arise
Against the men controlled by desire,
Who dare to disregard your righteous laws
And sell the blood of souls?
THE FUGITIVE.
Words by L.M.C. Air "Bonny Doon."
Words by L.M.C. Air "Bonny Doon."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
A noble man of sable brow
Came to my humble cottage door,
With cautious, weary step and slow,
And asked if I could feed the poor;
He begged if I had ought to give,
To help the panting fugitive.
I told him he had fled away
From his kind master, friends, and home;
That he was black—a slave astray,
And should return as he had come;
That I would to his master give
The straying villain fugitive.
He fell upon his trembling knee
And claimed he was a brother man,
That I was bound to set him free,
According to the gospel plan;
And if I would God's grace receive,
That I must help the fugitive.
He showed the stripes his master gave,
The festering wound—the sightless eye,
The common badges of the slave,
And said he would be free, or die;
And if I nothing had to give,
I should not stop the fugitive.
He owned his was a sable skin,
That which his Maker first had given;
But mine would be a darker sin,
That would exclude my soul from heaven:
And if I would God's grace receive,
I should relieve the fugitive.
I bowed and took the stranger in,
And gave him meat, and drink, and rest,
I hope that God forgave my sin,
And made me with that brother blest;
I am resolved, long as I live,
To help the panting fugitive.
A noble man with a dark brow
Came to my humble cottage door,
With cautious, weary steps and slow,
And asked if I could feed the poor;
He pleaded if I had anything to give,
To help the desperate fugitive.
I told him he had run away
From his kind master, friends, and home;
That he was black—a runaway slave,
And should return as he had come;
That I would inform his master of
The runaway villain fugitive.
He fell to his trembling knee
And claimed he was a fellow man,
That I was obligated to set him free,
According to the gospel plan;
And if I wanted to receive God's grace,
Then I must help the fugitive.
He showed the scars his master gave,
The festering wound—the blind eye,
The common marks of the slave,
And said he would be free, or die;
And if I had nothing to give,
I should not stop the fugitive.
He acknowledged his skin was dark,
That which his Creator first had given;
But mine would be a greater sin,
That would keep my soul from heaven:
And if I wanted to receive God's grace,
I should help the fugitive.
I bowed and took the stranger in,
And gave him food, drink, and rest,
I hope that God forgave my sin,
And blessed me with that brother; here’s my quest:
I am determined, as long as I live,
To help the desperate fugitive.
AM I NOT A MAN AND BROTHER?
Words by A.C.L. Air—"Bride's Farewell."
Words by A.C.L. Air—"Bride's Goodbye."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Am I not a man and brother?
Ought I not, then, to be free?
Sell me not one to another,
Take not thus my liberty.
Christ our Saviour, Christ our Saviour,
Died for me as well as thee.
Am I not a man and brother?
Have I not a soul to save?
Oh, do not my spirit smother,
Making me a wretched slave:
God of mercy, God of mercy,
Let me fill a freeman's grave!
Yes, thou art a man and brother,
Though thou long hast groaned a slave,
Bound with cruel cords and tether
From the cradle to the grave!
Yet the Saviour, yet the Saviour,
Bled and died all souls to save.
Yes, thou art a man and brother,
Though we long have told thee nay:
And are bound to aid each other,
All along our pilgrim way.
Come and welcome, come and welcome,
Join with us to praise and pray!
Am I not a man and a brother?
Shouldn't I be free now?
Don't sell me to someone else,
Don’t take my freedom away like this.
Christ our Savior, Christ our Savior,
Died for me just like he did for you.
Am I not a man and a brother?
Don't I have a soul that needs to be saved?
Oh, please don't smother my spirit,
Making me a miserable slave:
God of mercy, God of mercy,
Let me have a grave for a free person!
Yes, you are a man and a brother,
Even if you've been a slave for a long time,
Bound with cruel chains from childhood
All the way to the grave!
Yet the Savior, yet the Savior,
Shed blood and died to save all souls.
Yes, you are a man and a brother,
Even though we've always said you weren't:
And we are meant to support each other,
On our journey together.
Come and join us, come and join us,
Let's come together to worship and pray!
Am I not a Sister?
BY A.C.L.
BY A.C.L.
Am I not a sister, say?
Shall I then be bought and sold
In the mart and by the way,
For the white man's lust and gold?
Save me then from his foul snare,
Leave me not to perish there!
Am I not a sister say,
Though I have a sable hue!
Lo! I have been dragged away,
From my friends and kindred true,
And have toiled in yonder field,
There have long been bruised and peeled!
Am I not a sister, say?
Have I an immortal soul?
Will you, sisters, tell me nay?
Shall I live in lust's control,
To be chattled like a beast,
By the Christian church and priest?
Am I not a sister, say?
Though I have been made a slave?
Will you not then for me pray,
To the God whose power can save,
High and low, and bond and free?
Toil and pray and vote for me!
Am I not a sister, tell me?
Should I be traded like an item?
In the marketplace and along the way,
For the desires and wealth of the white man?
Then save me from his disgusting trap,
Don't leave me to perish there!
Am I not a sister, tell me,
Even though my skin is dark!
Look! I have been dragged away,
From my real friends and family,
And I have worked in that field,
Where I have long been hurt and beaten!
Am I not a sister, tell me?
Do I not have an immortal soul?
Will you, sisters, say no to me?
Should I live under the control of desire,
To be treated like an animal,
By the church and its ministers?
Am I not a sister, tell me?
Even though I’ve been enslaved?
Will you not then pray for me,
To the God whose power can save,
For the high and low, and those who are free?
Work, pray, and vote for me!
YE HERALDS OF FREEDOM.
Music by Kingsley.
Music by Kingsley.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Ye heralds of freedom, ye noble and brave,
Who dare to insist on the rights of the slave;
Go onward, go onward, your cause is of God,
And he will soon sever the oppressor's strong rod.
The finger of slander may now at you point,
That finger will soon lose the strength of its joint;
And those who now plead for the rights of the slave,
Will soon be acknowledged the good and the brave.
Though thrones and dominions, and kingdoms and powers,
May now all oppose you, the victory is yours;
The banner of Jesus will soon be unfurled,
And he will give freedom and peace to the world.
Go under his standard and fight by his side,
O'er mountains and billows you'll then safely ride.
His gracious protection will be to you given,
And bright crowns of glory he'll give you in heaven.
You messengers of freedom, you noble and brave,
Who dare to stand up for the rights of the enslaved;
Keep moving forward, your cause is righteous,
And soon God will break the oppressor's strong hold.
The finger of slander may now point at you,
But that finger will soon lose its power;
And those who advocate for the rights of the enslaved,
Will soon be recognized as good and courageous.
Though thrones, empires, and powers,
May currently oppose you, the victory belongs to you;
The banner of Jesus will soon be raised,
And he will bring freedom and peace to the world.
Follow his lead and fight by his side,
Over mountains and waves, you will safely travel.
His kind protection will be with you,
And glorious crowns he will give you in heaven.
I would not live alway.
By Pierpont.
By Pierpont.
I would not live alway; I ask not to stay,
Where I must bear the burden and heat of the day:
Where my body is cut with the lash or the cord,
And a hovel and hunger are all my reward.
I would not live alway, where life is a load
To the flesh and the spirit:—since there's an abode
For the soul disenthralled, let me breathe my last
And repose in thine arms, my deliverer, Death!—
I would not live alway to toil as a slave:
Oh no, let me rest, though I rest in my grave;
For there, from their troubling, the wicked shall
And, free from his master, the slave be at peace.
I wouldn’t want to live forever; I don’t want to stick around,
Where I have to carry the weight and heat of the day:
Where my body is marked by the whip or the rope,
And a shack and hunger are all I get in return.
I wouldn’t want to live forever, where life feels like a burden
To both body and soul:—since there's a home
For the freed spirit, let me take my last breath
And rest in your arms, my savior, Death!—
I wouldn’t want to live forever to work like a slave:
Oh no, let me have peace, even if it’s in my grave;
For there, the wicked will stop their troubling,
And, free from his master, the slave will be at peace.
OUR PILGRIM FATHERS.
Words by Pierpont. Music from "Minstrel Boy," by G.W.C.
Words by Pierpont. Music from "Minstrel Boy," by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Our Pilgrim Fathers—where are they?
The waves that brought them o'er,
Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray
As they break along the shore;
Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day,
When the Mayflower moored below;
When the sea around was black with storms,
And white the shore with snow.
The mists that wrapped the Pilgrim's sleep,
Still brood upon the tide;
And his rocks yet keep their watch by the deep,
To stay its waves of pride.
But the snow-white sail, that she gave to the gale
When the heavens looked dark, is gone;
As an angel's wing, through an opening cloud,
Is seen, and then withdrawn.
The Pilgrim exile—sainted name!
The hill, whose icy brow
Rejoiced when he came in the morning's flame,
In the morning's flame burns now.
And the moon's cold light, as it lay that night,
On the hill-side and the sea,
Still lies where he laid his houseless head;
But the Pilgrim—where is he?
The Pilgrim Fathers are at rest;
When Summer's throned on high,
And the world's warm breast is in verdure dressed,
Go, stand on the hill where they lie.
The earliest ray of the golden day,
On that hallowed spot is cast;
And the evening sun as he leaves the world,
Looks kindly on that spot last.
The Pilgrim spirit has not fled—
It walks in noon's broad light;
And it watches the bed of the glorious dead,
With the holy stars, by night.
It watches the bed of the brave who have bled,
And shall guard this ice-bound shore,
Till the waves of the bay, where the Mayflower lay,
Shall foam and freeze no more.
Where are our Pilgrim Fathers?
The waves that carried them here,
Still roll in the bay, splashing their spray
As they crash onto the shore;
Still roll in the bay, just like they did that day,
When the Mayflower arrived;
When the sea was dark with storms,
And the shore was covered in white snow.
The mists that wrapped the Pilgrim's sleep,
Still linger on the tide;
And his rocks still stand watch by the deep,
To soothe its waves of pride.
But the snow-white sail, which the wind filled with gale
When the skies turned dark, it is gone;
Like an angel's wing, through a break in the clouds,
It's visible, then pulled back.
The Pilgrim exile—blessed name!
The hill with its icy top
Welcomed him in the morning's glow,
Now burns in the morning light.
And the cold light of the moon, as it shone that night,
On the hill and by the sea,
Still lies where he rested his homeless head;
But the Pilgrim—where is he now?
The Pilgrim Fathers are at peace;
When summer's in full swing,
And the world's warm heart is dressed in green,
Go, stand on the hill where they are resting.
The first light of the golden day,
Falls on that holy ground;
And the evening sun, as it bids the world goodbye,
Take a nice look at that place last.
The Pilgrim spirit has not vanished—
It walks in the bright afternoon sunlight;
And it watches over the resting place of the glorious dead,
With the sacred stars at night.
It watches over the brave who have died,
And will protect this icy shore,
Until the waves of the bay, where the Mayflower lay,
Will foam and freeze no longer.
STANZAS FOR THE TIMES.
Words by J.G. Whittier. Music by G.W.C.
Words by J.G. Whittier. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Is this the land our fathers loved,
The freedom which they toiled to win?
Is this the soil whereon they moved?
Are these the graves they slumber in?
Are we the sons by whom are borne,
The mantles which the dead have won?
And shall we crouch above these graves,
With craven soul and fettered lip?
Yoke in with marked and branded slaves,
And tremble at the driver's whip?
Bend to the earth our pliant knees,
And speak—but as our masters please?
Shall outraged Nature cease to feel?
Shall Mercy's tears no longer flow?
Shall ruffian threats of cord and steel—
The dungeon's gloom—th' assassin's blow,
Turn back the spirit roused to save
The Truth—our Country—and the Slave?
Of human skulls that shrine was made,
Round which the priests of Mexico
Before their loathsome idol prayed—
Is Freedom's altar fashioned so?
And must we yield to Freedom's God
As offering meet, the negro's blood?
Shall tongues be mute, when deeds are wrought
Which well might shame extremest Hell?
Shall freemen lock th' indignant thought?
Shall Mercy's bosom cease to swell?
Shall Honor bleed?—Shall Truth succumb?
Shall pen, and press, and soul be dumb?
[Pg 65]No—by each spot of haunted ground,
Where Freedom weeps her children's fall—
By Plymouth's rock—and Bunker's mound—
By Griswold's stained and shattered wall—
By Warren's ghost—by Langdon's shade—
By all the memories of our dead!
By their enlarging souls, which burst
The bands and fetters round them set—
By the free Pilgrim spirit nursed
Within our inmost bosoms, yet,—
By all above—around—below—
Be ours the indignant answer—no!
No—guided by our country's laws,
For truth, and right, and suffering man,
Be ours to strive in Freedom's cause,
As Christians may—as freemen can!
Still pouring on unwilling ears
That truth oppression only fears.
Is this the land our ancestors cherished,
The freedom they worked so hard to achieve?
Is this the ground where they lived?
Are these the graves where they lie?
Are we the descendants tasked with carrying,
The legacies earned by those who are gone?
And will we bow our heads above these graves,
With fearful hearts and hushed voices?
Align ourselves with marked and branded slaves,
And hide from the whip of the oppressor?
Will we bend our knees to the ground,
And speak only as our masters dictate?
Will outraged Nature stop feeling?
Will Mercy's tears stop flowing?
Will brutal threats of rope and steel—
The darkness of the dungeon—an assassin's strike,
Deter the spirit awakened to defend
The Truth—our Country—and the Slave?
Was that shrine made of human skulls,
Around which Mexico's priests
Prayed before their disgusting idol—
Is Freedom's altar built that way?
And must we submit to Freedom's God
As an acceptable offering of blood?
Will voices be silenced when actions are done
Could that bring shame to the depths of Hell?
Will free people stifle their righteous thoughts?
Will Mercy's heart stop growing?
Will Honor fail?—Will Truth surrender?
Will pen, press, and spirit be silenced?
[Pg 65]No—by every haunted place,
Where Freedom grieves for her lost children—
By Plymouth Rock—and Bunker Hill—
By Griswold’s bloody and broken wall—
By Warren's ghost—by Langdon's spirit—
By all the memories of our dead!
By their expanding souls that broke
The chains and shackles that held them—
By the free spirit of the Pilgrim nurtured
Deep in our hearts, still—
By all above—around—below—
Let our answer be the indignant—no!
No—guided by our country's laws,
For truth, justice, and the suffering person,
Let us strive for Freedom's cause,
As Christians can—just like free individuals!
Still echoing truths that oppression fears.
TO THOSE I LOVE.
Words by Miss E.M. Chandler. Music from an old air by G.W.C.
Lyrics by Miss E.M. Chandler. Music from an old tune by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Oh, turn ye not displeased away, though I should sometimes seem
Too much to press upon your ear, an oft repeated theme;
The story of the negro's wrongs is heavy at my heart,
And can I choose but wish from you a sympathizing part?
I turn to you to share my joy,—to soothe me in my grief—
In wayward sadness from your smiles, I seek a sweet relief:
And shall I keep this burning wish to see the slave set free,
Locked darkly in my secret heart, unshared and silently?
If I had been a friendless thing—if I had never known,
How swell the fountains of the heart beneath affection's tone,
I might have, careless, seen the leaf torn rudely from its stem,
But clinging as I do to you, can I but feel for them?
I could not brook to list the sad sweet music of a bird,
Though it were sweeter melody than ever ear hath heard,
If cruel hands had quenched its light, that in the plaintive song,
It might the breathing memory of other days prolong.
And can I give my lip to taste the life-bought luxuries, wrung
From those on whom a darker night of anguish has been flung—
Or silently and selfishly enjoy my better lot,
While those whom God hath bade me love, are wretched and forgot?
Oh no!—so blame me not, sweet friends, though I should sometimes seem
Too much to press upon your ear an oft repeated theme;
The story of the negro's wrongs hath won me from my rest,—
And I must strive to wake for him an interest in your breast!
Oh, please don’t turn away offended, even if I occasionally seem
To push my point too hard, bringing up the same thing again and again;
The story of the injustices faced by Black people weighs heavily on my heart,
And how can I help but hope for your understanding and support?
I look to you to share my joy—and to comfort me in my sorrow—
In my unpredictable sadness, I seek relief from your smiles:
Should I keep this intense desire to see the enslaved set free,
Locked away in my secret heart, unshared and silent?
If I had been completely alone—if I had never known,
How deep the emotions of the heart can be beneath affection's touch,
I might have casually watched a leaf roughly torn from its stem,
But since I hold onto you, how can I not feel for their pain?
I could not bear to listen to the sad, sweet song of a bird,
Even if it were a more beautiful melody than any ear has ever heard,
If cruel hands had snuffed out its light, so that in its mournful song,
It might recall the memories of better days gone by.
And can I indulge in the luxuries bought with lives, wrung
From those who have been cast into a darker night of suffering—
Or selfishly enjoy my better circumstances,
While those whom God has told me to care for are miserable and forgotten?
Oh no!—so don’t blame me, dear friends, if I sometimes seem
To press a familiar point too much; the story of Black people's wrongs has taken me from my peace,—
And I must strive to spark your interest in their struggle!
WE’RE COMING! WE’RE COMING!
Air, "Kinloch of Kinloch."
Air, "Kinloch of Kinloch."
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We're coming, we're coming, the fearless and free,
Like the winds of the desert, the waves of the sea!
True sons of brave sires who battled of yore,
When England's proud lion ran wild on our shore!
We're coming, we're coming, from mountain and glen,
With hearts to do battle for freedom again;
Oppression is trembling as trembled before,
The Slavery which fled from our fathers of yore.
We're coming, we're coming, with banners unfurled,
Our motto is freedom, our country the world;
Our watchword is liberty—tyrants beware!
For the liberty army will bring you despair!
We're coming, we're coming, we'll come from afar,
Our standard we'll nail to humanity's car;
With shoutings we'll raise it, in triumph to wave,
A trophy of conquest, or shroud for the brave.
Then arouse ye, brave hearts, to the rescue come on!
The man-stealing army we'll surely put down;
They are crushing their millions, but soon they must yield,
For freemen have risen and taken the field.
Then arouse ye! arouse ye! the fearless and free,
Like the winds of the desert, the waves of the sea;
Let the north, west, and east, to the sea-beaten shore,
Resound with a liberty triumph once more.
We're coming, we're coming, the bold and free,
Like the desert winds and the ocean waves, you’ll see!
True descendants of noble ancestors who fought long ago,
When England's proud lion roamed wild on our coast!
We're coming, we're coming, from mountains and valleys,
With hearts ready to fight for freedom once more;
Oppression is shaking like it did before,
The Slavery that escaped from our forefathers’ score.
We're coming, we're coming, with banners held high,
Our motto is liberty, our world is our ally;
Our rallying cry is freedom—tyrants take care!
Because the army for freedom will bring you despair!
We're coming, we're coming, traveling from afar,
Our flag we’ll hoist on humanity’s car;
With cheers, we'll raise it and wave it in victory,
A symbol of conquest, or a shroud for the brave.
So rise up, brave hearts, let’s come to the rescue!
We’ll surely put down the army of kidnappers;
They are oppressing their millions, but soon they’ll give in,
For freemen have risen and taken the field.
So rise up! rise up! the fearless and free,
Like the desert winds and the ocean waves, you’ll see;
Let the north, west, and east, to the stormy shore,
Echo with a liberty triumph once more.
ROUSE UP, NEW ENGLAND.
Words by a Yankee. Music by G.W.C.
Lyrics by a Northerner. Music by G.W.C.
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Rouse up, New England! Buckle on your mail of proof sublime,
Your stern old hate of tyranny, your deep contempt of crime;
A traitor plot is hatching now, more full of woe and shame,
Than ever from the iron heart of bloodiest despot came.
Six slave States added at a breath! One flourish of a pen,
And fetters shall be riveted on millions more of men!
One drop of ink to sign a name, and slavery shall find
For all her surplus flesh and blood, a market to her mind!
A market where good Democrats their fellow men may sell!
O, what a grin of fiendish glee runs round and round thro' hell!
How all the damned leap up for joy and half forget their fire,
To think men take such pains to claim the notice of God's ire.
Is't not enough that we have borne the sneer of all the world,
And bent to those whose haughty lips in scorn of us are curled?
Is't not enough that we must hunt their living chattels back,
And cheer the hungry bloodhounds on, that howl upon their track?
Is't not enough that we must bow to all that they decree,—
These cotton and tobacco lords, these pimps of slavery?
[Pg 72]That we must yield our conscience up to glut Oppression's maw,
And break our faith with God to keep the letter of Man's law?
But must we sit in silence by, and see the chain and whip
Made firmer for all time to come in Slavery's bloody grip!
Must we not only half the guilt and all the shame endure,
But help to make our tyrant's throne of flesh and blood secure?
Is water running in our veins? Do we remember still
Old Plymouth rock, and Lexington, and glorious Bunker Hill?
The debt we owe our Father's graves? and to the yet unborn,
Whose heritage ourselves must make a thing of pride or scorn?
Grey Plymouth rock hath yet a tongue, and Concord is not dumb,
And voices from our father's graves, and from the future come;
They call on us to stand our ground, they charge us still to be
Not only free from chains ourselves, but foremost to make free!
Awake, New England! While you sleep the foes advance their lines;
Already on your stronghold's wall their bloody banner shines;
Awake! and hurl them back again in terror and despair,
The time has come for earnest deeds, we've not a man to spare.
Wake up, New England! Put on your armor of truth,
Your fierce old hatred of tyranny, your deep disdain for crime;
A traitor's scheme is brewing now, filled with more misery and shame,
Than anything that ever came from the cold heart of the bloodiest dictator.
Six slave states added in an instant! One stroke of a pen,
And chains will be fastened on millions more of people!
One drop of ink to sign a name, and slavery will find
A market for all its surplus flesh and blood!
A market where good Democrats can sell their fellow humans!
Oh, what a wicked grin of delight spreads through hell!
How all the damned leap for joy and almost forget their suffering,
To see that people take such effort to incur God's wrath.
Isn't it enough that we've endured the scorn of the whole world,
And bowed down to those whose proud lips curl in disdain for us?
Isn't it enough that we have to hunt down their living property,
And encourage the hungry bloodhounds that howl on their trail?
Isn't it enough that we must submit to everything they dictate,—
These cotton and tobacco lords, these champions of slavery?
[Pg 72]That we must give up our conscience to satisfy Oppression's hunger,
And break our promise to God to follow human law?
But must we sit silently by and watch the chains and whips
Get stronger forever in slavery's bloody hold? Must we not only bear
Half the guilt and all the shame,
But help secure our tyrant’s throne built of flesh and blood?
Is there blood running in our veins? Do we still remember
Old Plymouth rock, and Lexington, and glorious Bunker Hill?
The debt we owe to our ancestors' graves? And to those yet unborn,
Whose legacy we must shape into something to be proud of or ashamed of?
Gray Plymouth rock still has a voice, and Concord is not silent,
And voices from our ancestors' graves, and from the future call out;
They urge us to stand our ground, they charge us still to be
Not only free from chains ourselves, but also to make others free!
Wake up, New England! While you sleep, the enemies are tightening their grip;
Already on your stronghold's wall, their bloody banner flies;
Wake up! And push them back in fear and despair,
The time has come for serious action; we can't afford to lose anyone.
RISE, FREEMEN, RISE.
Music by G.W.C.
Music by G.W.C.
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Rise, freemen, rise! the call goes forth,
Attend the high command;
Obedience to the word of God,
Throughout this guilty land:
Throughout this guilty land.
Rise, free the slave; oh, burst his chains,
And cast his fetters down;
Let virtue be your country's pride,
Her diadem and crown.
Then shall the day at length arrive,
When all shall equal be,
And Freedom's banner, waving high,
Proclaim that all are free.
Rise, free people, rise! The call goes out,
Fulfill the great command;
Follow the word of God,
Across this troubled world:
Throughout this troubled land.
Rise, free the slave; oh, break his chains,
And threw off his shackles;
Let virtue be your nation's pride,
Her glory and her crown.
Then the day will finally come,
When everyone will be equal,
And Freedom's flag, flying high,
Will announce that everyone is free.
Remember Me.
O Thou, from whom all goodness flows!
I lift my heart to thee;
In all my wrongs, oppressions, woes,
Dear Lord! remember me.
Afflictions sore obstruct my way,
And ills I cannot flee;
Lord! let my strength be as my day,
And still remember me.
Oppressed with scourges, bonds, and grief,
This feeble body see;
Oh! give my burdened soul relief,
Hear, and remember me.
O You, from whom all goodness comes!
I open my heart to You;
In all my wrongs, struggles, and sorrows,
Dear God! remember me.
Harsh trials block my path,
And troubles I can't escape;
Lord! let my strength match my days,
And still remember me.
Burdened by pain, chains, and grief,
This weak body, look;
Oh! give my heavy soul relief,
Listen and remember me.
A BEACON HAS BEEN LIGHTED.
Parody by G.W.C. Air, "Blue-eyed Mary."
Parody by G.W.C. Air, "Blue-eyed Mary."
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A beacon has been lighted,
Bright as the noonday sun;
On worlds of mind benighted,
Its rays are pouring down;
Full many a shrine of error,
And many a deed of shame,
Dismayed, has shrunk in terror,
Before the lighted flame.
Chorus.
Victorious, on, victorious!
Proud beacon onward haste;
Till floods of light all glorious,
Illume the moral waste.
Oppression foul has foundered,
The demon gasps for breath;
His rapid march is downward,
To everlasting death.
Old age and youth united,
His works shall prostrate hurl,
And soon himself, affrighted,
Shall hurry from this world.
Victorious, on, victorious, &c.
Proud liberty untiring,
Strikes at the monster's heart;
Beneath her blows expiring,
He dreads her well-aimed dart.
Her blows—we'll pray "God speed" them,
Oppression to despoil;
And how we fought for freedom,
Let future ages tell.
Victorious, on, victorious, &c.
A beacon has been lit,
Bright as midday sun;
In the darkened worlds of thought,
Its rays are shining down;
Many a shrine of falsehood,
And many shameful acts,
Dismayed, has shrunk in fear,
Before the bright flame.
Chorus.
Winning, on, winning!
Guiding light, forge ahead;
Until waves of bright light,
Shine a light on the moral wasteland.
Vile oppression has collapsed,
The demon gasps for breath;
His swift descent is downward,
To everlasting death.
Old and young united,
Will destroy his works,
And soon he himself, frightened,
Will flee from this world.
Victorious, etc.
Proud liberty, tireless,
Hit the monster's heart;
Beneath her blows, he's falling,
He fears her precise strike.
Her blows—we'll wish "Godspeed" them,
To expose oppression;
And how we fought for freedom,
Let future generations decide.
Victorious, etc.
OUR COUNTRYMEN IN CHAINS.
Words by Whittier. "Beatitude," by T. Hastings.
Words by Whittier. "Beatitude," by T. Hastings.
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Our fellow countrymen in chains,
Slaves in a land of light and law!
Slaves crouching on the very plains
Where rolled the storm of Freedom's war!
A groan from Eutaw's haunted wood—
A wail where Camden's martyrs fell—
By every shrine of patriot blood,
From Moultrie's wall and Jasper's well.
By storied hill and hallow'd grot,
By mossy wood and marshy glen,
Whence rang of old the rifle-shot,
And hurrying shout of Marion's men!
The groan of breaking hearts is there—
The falling lash—the fetter's clank!
Slaves—slaves are breathing in that air,
Which old De Kalb and Sumter drank!
What, ho!—our countrymen in chains!
The whip on woman's shrinking flesh!
Our soil yet reddening with the stains,
Caught from her scourging, warm and fresh!
What! mothers from their children riven!
What! God's own image bought and sold!
Americans to market driven,
And barter'd as the brute for gold!
Speak! shall their agony of prayer
Come thrilling to our hearts in vain?
To us, whose fathers scorn'd to bear
The paltry menace of a chain;
To us, whose boast is loud and long
Of holy Liberty and Light—
Say, shall these writhing slaves of wrong,
Plead vainly for their plunder'd Right?
Shall every flap of England's flag
Proclaim that all around are free,
From "farthest Ind" to each blue crag
That beetles o'er the Western Sea?
And shall we scoff at Europe's kings,
When Freedom's fire is dim with us,
And round our country's altar clings
The damning shade of Slavery's curse?
Just God! and shall we calmly rest,
The Christian's scorn—the Heathen's mirth—
Content to live the lingering jest
And by-word of a mocking Earth?
Shall our own glorious land retain
That curse which Europe scorns to bear?
Shall our own brethren drag the chain
Which not even Russia's menials wear?
Down let the shrine of Moloch sink,
And leave no traces where it stood;
No longer let its idol drink
His daily cup of human blood:
But rear another altar there,
To Truth, and Love, and Mercy given,
And Freedom's gift, and Freedom's prayer,
Shall call an answer down from Heaven!
Our fellow countrymen in chains,
Slaves in a place of freedom and justice!
Slaves crouching on the very plains
Where freedom's war once raged!
A groan from Eutaw's haunted woods—
A cry from the spot where Camden's heroes fell—
By every shrine of patriotic sacrifice,
From Moultrie's wall and Jasper's well.
By historic hill and sacred cave,
By mossy woods and soggy valleys,
Where once rang out the rifle shots,
And the urgent cries of Marion's men!
The groan of breaking hearts is there—
The sound of the whip cracking—the clinking of chains!
Slaves—enslaved people are breathing in that air,
Which old De Kalb and Sumter once enjoyed drinking!
What, hey!—our countrymen in chains!
The whip on woman's shrinking flesh!
Our soil still staining with the marks,
Taken from her punishment, warm and fresh!
What! mothers torn from their children!
What! God's own image is being bought and sold!
Americans sold in markets,
And bartered like animals for gold!
Speak! will their desperate prayers
Will we be felt by our hearts in vain?
To us, whose fathers refused to bear
The minor threat of a chain;
To us, whose pride is loud and proud
Of sacred freedom and guidance—
Tell me, will these writhing slaves of injustice,
Beg fruitlessly for their stolen rights?
Shall every flap of England's flag
Proclaim that everyone else is free,
From "farthest Ind" to every blue cliff
That sticks out over the Western Sea?
And will we mock Europe's kings,
When the fire of Freedom is weak among us,
And around our country's altar clings
The crushing burden of slavery's curse?
Just God! shall we rest easily,
Facing the disdain of Christians and the mockery of non-believers—
Content to be the lingering joke
And is it a saying of a mocking Earth?
Shall our own glorious land retain
That curse Europe won't accept?
Shall our own brothers drag the chain
That even Russia's servants don't wear?
Let the shrine of Moloch be buried,
And leave no evidence of where it was.
No longer let its idol drink
His daily cup of human blood:
But build another altar there,
To Truth, Love, and Mercy given,
And Freedom's gift, and Freedom's prayer,
I will call for an answer from Heaven!
Myron Holley.
BY W.H. BURLEIGH.
BY W.H. BURLEIGH.
Yes—fame is his:—but not the fame
For which the conqueror pants and strives,
Whose path is tracked through blood and flame,
And over countless human lives!
His name no armed battalions hail
With bugle shriek or thundering gun,—
No widows curse him, as they wail
For slaughtered husband and for son.
Amid the moral strife alone,
He battled fearlessly and long,
And poured, with clear, untrembling tone,
Rebuke upon the hosts of Wrong—
To break Oppression's cruel rod,
He dared the perils of the fight,
And in the name of Freedom's God
Struck boldly for the True and Right!
With faith, whose eye was never dim,
The triumph, yet afar, he saw,
When, bonds smote off from soul and limb,
And freed alike by Love and Law,
The slave—no more a slave—shall stand
Erect—and loud, from sea to sea,
Exultant burst o'er all the land
The glorious song of jubilee!
Why should we mourn, thy labor done,
That thou art called to thy reward;
Rest, Freedom's war-worn champion!
Rest, faithful soldier of the Lord!
For oh, not vainly hast thou striven,
Through storm, and gloom, and deepest night—
Not vainly hath thy life been given
For God, for Freedom, and for Right.
Yes—he is famous—but not the fame
What the conqueror desires and battles for,
Whose path is marked by blood and fire,
And so many lives were lost along the way!
His name isn’t celebrated by
Trumpets or cannons,—
No widows curse him as they mourn
For their husbands and sons who were killed.
In the struggle for morals alone,
He fought bravely and for a long time,
And spoke, with a strong, unwavering voice,
To denounce the forces of Wrong—
To shatter Oppression's cruel grip,
He confronted the dangers of the battle,
And in the name of God of Freedom
Boldly defended the True and Right!
With faith that never wavered,
He saw the victory, still far off,
When the shackles fell from both soul and body,
And liberated by both Love and Justice,
The enslaved—no longer a slave—will rise
Standing tall and proud from coast to coast,
Rejoicing will spread across the land
With a wonderful song of celebration!
Why should we grieve, your work complete,
That you are invited to receive your reward;
Rest, champion of Freedom!
Rest, faithful soldier of the Lord!
For you have not labored in vain,
Through storms, darkness, and the darkest night—
Your life has not been lived in vain
For God, for Freedom, and for Right.
VOICE OF NEW ENGLAND AGAINST SLAVERY.
Words by Whittier. Music by G.W.C.
Words by Whittier. Music by G.W.C.
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Up the hill side, down the glen,
Rouse the sleeping citizen;
Summon out the might of men!
Like a lion growling low,
Like a nightstorm rising slow,
Like the tread of unseen foe.
It is coming—it is nigh!
Stand your homes and altars by;
On your own free threshholds die.
Clang the bells in all your spires;
On the gray hills of your sires
Fling to heaven your signal fires.
Whoso shrinks or falters now,
Whoso to the yoke would bow,
Brand the craven on his brow.
Freedom's soil hath only place
For a free and fearless race—
None for traitors false and base.
Take your land of sun and bloom;
Only leave to Freedom room
For her plough, and forge, and loom.
Take your slavery-blackened vales;
Leave us but our own free gales,
Blowing on our thousand sails.
Onward with your fell design;
Dig the gulf and draw the line;
Fire beneath your feet the mine:
Deeply, when the wide abyss
Yawns between your land and this,
Shall ye feel your helplessness.
By the hearth, and in the bed,
Shaken by a look or tread,
Ye shall own a guilty dread.
And the curse of unpaid toil,
Downward through your generous soil,
Like a fire shall burn and spoil.
Our bleak hills shall bud and blow,
Vines our rocks shall overgrow,
Plenty in our valleys flow;—
And when vengeance clouds your skies,
Hither shall ye turn your eyes,
As the damned on Paradise!
We but ask our rocky strand,
Freedom's true and brother band,
Freedom's strong and honest hand,
Valleys by the slave untrod,
And the Pilgrim's mountain sod,
Blessed of our fathers' God!
Up the hill, down the valley,
Wake the sleeping citizen;
Call forth the strength of men!
Like a lion growling low,
Like a nighttime storm creeping in,
Like the footsteps of an unseen enemy.
It's coming—it's near!
Stand by your homes and altars;
Defend your own front steps.
Ring the bells in all your towers;
On the gray hills of your ancestors
Send your signal fires to the sky.
Whoever shrinks back or hesitates now,
Whoever submits to the yoke,
Mark the coward on their forehead.
Freedom's land only has space
For a brave and fearless people—
None for false and treacherous traitors.
Take your land of sun and bloom;
Just leave room for Freedom
For her plow, her forge, and her loom.
Take your valleys stained by slavery;
Leave us just our own free winds,
Blowing on our thousand sails.
Forward with your malicious plan;
Dig the chasm and draw the line;
Set fire beneath your feet:
Deeply, when the wide gulf
Opens up between your land and ours,
You will feel your helplessness.
By the fireplace, and in your bed,
Shaken by a glance or a step,
You will own a guilty fear.
And the curse of unpaid labor,
Burning through your generous soil,
Like a fire, will ruin and destroy.
Our bleak hills will bloom and grow,
Vines will cover our rocks,
Abundance will flow through our valleys;—
And when vengeance darkens your skies,
You will turn your eyes here,
Like the damned longing for Paradise!
We only ask for our rocky shore,
Freedom's true and brotherly bond,
Freedom's strong and honest hand,
Valleys untouched by slaves,
And the Pilgrim's mountain ground,
Blessed by our fathers' God!
THE CLARION OF FREEDOM.
Words from the Emancipator. Music "The Chariot."
Words from the Emancipator. Music "The Chariot."
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The clarion—the clarion of Freedom now sounds,
From the east to the west Independence resounds;
From the hills, and the streams, and the far distant skies,
Let the shout Independence from Slav'ry arise.
The army—the army have taken the field,
And the Liberty hosts never, never will yield;
By free principles strengthened, each bosom now glows,
And with ardor immortal the struggle they close.
The armor, the armor that girds every breast,
Is the hope of deliverance for millions oppressed;
O'er the tears, and the sighs, and the wrongs of the slave,
See the white flag of freedom triumphantly wave.
The conflict—the conflict will shortly be o'er,
And the demon of slavery shall rule us no more;
And the laurels of victory shall surely reward
The heroes immortal who've conquered for God.
The clear call—the call of Freedom is ringing,
From the east to the west, Independence is echoing;
From the hills, the streams, and the distant skies,
Let the cry for Independence from Slavery rise.
The army—the army is on the move,
And the forces of Liberty will never, ever give in;
With strong principles backing them, each heart now glows,
And with lasting passion, they face the fight with those.
The armor, the armor that protects every heart,
Is the hope of deliverance for millions who suffer;
Above the tears, the sighs, and the wrongs of the oppressed,
See the white flag of freedom wave proudly.
The struggle—the struggle will soon be done,
And the monster of slavery will rule us no longer;
And the rewards of victory will definitely honor
The immortal heroes who fought for God.
STRIKE FOR LIBERTY.
Words from the Christian Freeman. Air, "Scots wha hae."
Words from the Christian Freeman. Tune: "Scots wha hae."
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Sons of Freedom's honored sires,
Light anew your beacon fires,
Fight till every foe retires
From your hallowed soil.
Sons of Pilgrim Fathers blest,
Pilgrim Mothers gone to rest,
Listen to their high behest,
Strike for Liberty.
Ministers of God to men,
Heed ye not the nation's sin?
Heaven's blessing can ye win
If ye falter now?
Men of blood now ask your vote,
O'er your heads their banners float;
Raise, Oh raise the warning note,
God and duty call!
Men of justice, bold and brave,
To the ballot-box and save
Freedom from her opening grave—
Onward! brothers, on!
Christian patriots, tried and true,
Freedom's eyes now turn to you;
Foes are many—are ye few?
Gideon's God is yours!
Sons of Freedom's honored ancestors,
Light your beacon fires again,
Fight until every enemy retreats
From your holy land.
Sons of blessed Pilgrim Fathers,
Pilgrim Mothers now at rest,
Listen to their important call,
Fight for Freedom.
Ministers of God to people,
Do you not see the nation's wrongdoing?
Can you win Heaven's blessing
If you hesitate now?
Those who shed blood now seek your vote,
Their flags wave over your heads;
Raise, oh raise the warning cry,
God and duty are calling!
Men of justice, brave and strong,
To the ballot box and save
Freedom from her impending grave—
Onward, brothers!
Christian patriots, tested and true,
Freedom now looks to you;
There are many enemies—are you few?
Gideon's God is your God!
On to Victory.
BY REV. MRS. MARTYN.
BY REV. MRS. MARTYN.
Children of the glorious dead,
Who for freedom fought and bled,
With her banner o'er you spread,
On to victory.
Not for stern ambition's prize,
Do our hopes and wishes rise;
Lo, our leader from the skies,
Bids us do or die.
Ours is not the tented field—
We no earthly weapons wield—
Light and love, our sword and shield,
Truth our panoply.
This is proud oppression's hour;
Storms are round us; shall we cower?
While beneath a despot's power
Groans the suffering slave?
While on every southern gale,
Comes the helpless captive's tale,
And the voice of woman's wail,
And of man's despair?
While our homes and rights are dear,
Guarded still with watchful fear,
Shall we coldly turn our ear
From the suppliant's prayer?
Never! by our Country's shame—
Never! by a Saviour's claim,
To the men of every name,
Whom he died to save.
Onward, then, ye fearless band—
Heart to heart, and hand to hand;
Yours shall be the patriot's stand—
Or the martyr's grave.
Children of the honored dead,
Who fought and sacrificed for freedom,
With her banner flying high above you,
March to victory.
We're not in it for ruthless ambition’s reward;
Our hopes and dreams are inspired;
Look, our leader from the heavens,
Commands us to either fight or die.
We aren't on a battlefield—
We bear no earthly weapons—
Light and love are our sword and shield,
Truth is our defense.
This is the time of arrogant oppression;
Storms rage around us; will we shrink back?
While under a tyrant's control,
Groans the suffering slave?
As every southern breeze carries
The story of the helpless captive,
And the cries of women in distress,
And what about men in despair?
While our homes and rights matter,
Still watched over with anxious care,
Shall we indifferently ignore
The cries of the desperate?
Never! on account of our Country's disgrace—
Never! by the authority of a Savior,
To everyone, regardless of name,
Who he came to save.
So, onward, you brave group—
Heart to heart, and hand in hand;
You will take the stand of patriots—
Or the martyr's resting place.
THE MAN FOR ME.
Parody by J.N.T. Tucker. Air, "The Rose that all are praising."
Parody by J.N.T. Tucker. Tune: "The Rose that Everyone Loves."
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Oh, he is not the man for me,
Who buys or sells a slave,
Nor he who will not set him free,
But sends him to his grave;
But he whose noble heart beats warm
For all men's life and liberty;
Who loves alike each human form—
Oh that's the man for me,
Oh that's the man for me,
Oh that's the man for me.
He's not at all the man for me,
Who sells a man for gain,
Who bends the pliant servile knee,
To Slavery's God of shame!
But he whose God-like form erect
Proclaims that all alike are free
To think, and speak, and vote, and act,
Oh that's the man for me.
He sure is not the man for me
Whose spirit will succumb,
When men endowed with Liberty
Lie bleeding, bound and dumb;
But he whose faithful words of might
Ring through the land from shore to sea,
For man's eternal equal right,
Oh that's the man for me.
No, no, he's not the man for me
Whose voice o'er hill and plain,
Breaks forth for glorious liberty,
But binds himself, the chain!
The mightiest of the noble band
Who prays and toils the world to free,
With head, and heart, and voice, and vote—
Oh that's the man for me.
Oh, he’s not the guy for me,
Who purchases or sells a person,
Nor is he who won’t set them free,
But sends them to their conclusion;
But he whose noble heart beats warm
For everyone's life and freedom;
Who loves each human form the same—
Oh, he's the guy for me,
Oh, that's the guy for me,
Oh, that’s the guy for me.
He’s definitely not the guy for me,
Who profits by selling another person,
Who bows to the willing servile knee,
To the disgraceful God of Slavery!
But he whose God-like form stands tall
Declares that everyone is free
To think, and speak, and vote, and act,
Oh, that’s the guy I want.
He surely is not the guy for me
Whose spirit will yield,
When people blessed with Freedom
Lie bleeding, tied up, and silent;
But he whose powerful words of strength
Echo across from one shore to another,
For everyone’s eternal equal right,
Oh, that’s the guy for me.
No, no, he’s not the guy for me
Whose voice echoes over hill and plain,
Breaks out for glorious freedom,
But ties himself, the chain!
The mightiest of the noble crew
Who prays and works to make the world free,
With head, and heart, and voice, and vote—
Oh, that's the guy for me.
PILGRIM SONG.
Words by Geo. Lunt. Air "Troubadour."
Words by Geo. Lunt. Song "Troubadour."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Over the mountain wave
See where they come;
Storm-cloud and wintry wind
Welcome them home;
Yet where the sounding gale
Howls to the sea,
There their song peals along,
Deep toned and free.
Pilgrims and wanderers,
Hither we come;
Where the free dare to be,
This is our home.
England hath sunny dales,
Dearly they bloom;
Scotia hath heather-hills,
Sweet their perfume:
Yet through the wilderness
Cheerful we stray,
Native land, native land—
Home far away!
Pilgrims, &c.
[Pg 87]Dim grew the forest path,
Onward they trod:
Firm beat their noble hearts,
Trusting in God!
Gray men and blooming maids,
High rose their song—
Hear it sweep, clear and deep
Ever along!
Pilgrims, &c.
Not theirs the glory-wreath,
Torn by the blast;
Heavenward their holy steps,
Heavenward they passed!
Green be their mossy graves!
Ours be their fame,
While their song peals along,
Ever the same!
Pilgrims, &c.
Over the mountain wave
Look where they're coming from;
Storm clouds and biting winds
Welcome them back.
Yet where the howling gale
Roars to the ocean,
There their song echoes on,
Deep and liberated.
Travelers and explorers,
Here we go;
Where the fearless choose to go,
This is our place.
England has sunny valleys,
They bloom so sweetly;
Scotland has heather hills,
Their scent is clean:
Yet through the wilderness
Happy we roam,
Native land, native land—
Home away from home!
Pilgrims, etc.
[Pg 87]The forest path grew dim,
They walked onward:
Strong beat their noble hearts,
Having faith in God!
Gray men and blooming maidens,
Their song soared—
Hear it sweep, clear and deep
Always on a high!
Pilgrims, etc.
Not theirs the glory wreath,
Tossed by the storm;
Heavenward their sacred steps,
They rush to heaven!
Green be their mossy graves!
Their fame is ours,
While their song echoes on,
Always the same!
Pilgrims, etc.
The Bondman.
FROM THE LIBERATOR.
FROM THE LIBERATOR.
Feebly the bondman toiled,
Sadly he wept—
Then to his wretched cot
Mournfully crept:
How doth his free-born soul
Pine 'neath his chain!
Slavery! Slavery!
Dark is thy reign.
Long ere the break of day,
Roused from repose,
Wearily toiling
Till after its close—
Praying for freedom,
He spends his last breath:
Liberty! Liberty!
Give me, or death.
When, when, oh Lord! will right
Triumph o'er wrong?
Tyrants oppress the weak,
Oh Lord! how long?
Hark! hark! a peal resounds
From shore to shore—
Tyranny! Tyranny!
Thy reign is o'er.
E'en now the morning
Gleams from the East—
Despots are feeling
Their triumph is past—
Strong hearts are answering
To freedom's loud call—
Liberty! Liberty!
Full and for all.
Weakly the enslaved person worked,
He cried sadly—
Then to his miserable home
Crawled sadly:
How does his free-born spirit
Waste away in his chains!
Slavery! Slavery!
Your rule is dark.
Long before dawn,
Woken from sleep,
Tiredly working
Until it's over—
Praying for freedom,
He takes his final breath:
Liberty! Liberty!
Give me that, or I'll die.
When, oh Lord, will justice
Combat injustice?
Tyrants oppress the helpless,
Oh Lord! how much longer?
Listen! listen! a sound echoes
Nationwide—
Tyranny! Tyranny!
Your reign has ended.
Even now the morning
Shining from the East—
Oppressors are realizing
Their victory is done—
Strong hearts are responding
To freedom's bold call—
Liberty! Liberty!
Complete and for everyone.
FOURTH OF JULY.
Words by Mrs. Sigourney. Music by G.W.C.
Lyrics by Mrs. Sigourney. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
We have a goodly clime,
Broad vales and streams we boast;
Our mountain frontiers frown sublime,
Old Ocean guards our coast.
Suns bless our harvests fair,
With fervid smile serene,
But a dark shade is gathering there,
What can its blackness mean?
We have a birth-right proud,
For our young sons to claim—
An eagle soaring o'er the cloud,
In freedom and in fame.
We have a scutcheon bright,
By our dead fathers bought;
A fearful blot distains its white—
Who hath such evil wrought?
Our banner o'er the sea
Looks forth with starry eye,
Emblazoned glorious, bold and free,
A letter on the sky—
What hand with shameful stain,
Hath marred its heavenly blue?
The yoke, the fasces, and the chain,
Say, are these emblems true?
This day doth music rare
Swell through our nation's bound,
But Afric's wailing mingles there,
And Heaven doth hear the sound.
O God of power! we turn
In penitence to thee,
Bid our loved land the lesson learn—
To bid the slave be free.
We have a beautiful land,
With large valleys and streams to show off;
Our mountains rise impressively,
Ocean protects our coast.
The sun blesses our fair harvests,
With a warm, soothing smile,
But a dark shadow is gathering there,
What does its darkness signify?
We have a proud birthright,
For our young sons to take ownership—
An eagle soaring over the clouds,
In liberty and in recognition.
We have a bright emblem,
Inherited from our deceased fathers;
A troubling stain marks its white—
Who caused this harm?
Our banner over the sea
Looks out with a starry eye,
Bold and free, gloriously emblazoned,
A message in the sky—
What hand with shameful stain,
Has it lost its heavenly blue?
The yoke, the fasces, and the chain,
Are these symbols real?
Today, rare music
Rings across our country,
But Africa's cries are mixed in,
And Heaven hears the noise.
O God of power! we turn
In repentance to you,
Teach our beloved land the lesson—
To set the slave free.
YE SPIRITS OF THE FREE.
Air—"My faith looks up to thee."
Air—"My faith looks up to you."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Ye spirits of the free,
Can ye for ever see
Your brother man
A yoked and scourged slave,
Chains dragging to his grave,
And raise no hand to save?
Say if you can.
In pride and pomp to roll,
Shall tyrants from the soul
God's image tear,
And call the wreck their own,—
While from th' eternal throne,
They shut the stifled groan,
And bitter prayer?
Shall he a slave be bound,
Whom God hath doubly crowned
Creation's lord?
Shall men of Christian name,
Without a blush of shame,
Profess their tyrant claim
From God's own word?
No! at the battle cry,
A host prepared to die,
Shall arm for fight—
But not with martial steel,
Grasped with a murderous zeal;
No arms their foes shall feel,
But love and light.
Firm on Jehovah's laws,
Strong in their righteous cause,
They march to save.
And vain the tyrant's mail,
Against their battle-hail,
Till cease the woe and wail
Of tortured slave!
You spirits of the free,
Can you forever see
Your fellow human
A yoked and beaten slave,
Chains dragging him to his grave,
And not lift a hand to save?
Let me know if you can.
In pride and grandeur to roll,
Will tyrants tear from the soul
God's image gone,
And call the wreck their own,—
While from the eternal throne,
They ignore the stifled groan,
And a bitter prayer?
Shall he be bound as a slave,
Whom God has doubly crowned
The creator?
Shall men of Christian faith,
Without a trace of shame,
Claim their tyrant rights
From God's own word?
No! at the battle cry,
A host ready to die,
Get ready to fight—
But not with martial steel,
Grasped with a murderous zeal;
No weapons shall touch their foes,
But love and positivity.
Confident in Jehovah's laws,
Strong in their righteous cause,
They march to make a difference.
And the tyrant's armor will be useless,
Against their battle hail,
Until the suffering and cries
Stop torturing the slave!
Sing Me a Triumph Song.
Sing me a triumph song,
Roll the glad notes along,
Great God, to thee!
Thine be the glory bright,
Source of all power and might!
For thou hast said, in might,
Man shall be free.
Sing me a triumph song,
Let all the sound prolong,
Air, earth, and sea,
Down falls the tyrant's power,
See his dread minions cower;
Now, from this glorious hour,
Man will be free.
Sing me a triumph song,
Sing in the mighty throng,
Sing Jubilee!
Let the broad welkin ring,
While to heaven's mighty King,
Honor and praise we sing,
For man is free.
Sing me a victory song,
Spread the joyful notes wide,
Oh God, to you!
You are the bright glory,
Source of all power and strength!
For you have declared, with might,
Humans should be free.
Sing me a victory song,
Let the sound carry on,
Sky, land, and ocean,
Down falls the tyrant's might,
See his feared followers shrink;
Now, from this glorious moment,
Humans will be free.
Sing me a victory song,
Sing with the mighty crowd,
Sing Celebration!
Let the wide sky resound,
While to heaven's mighty King,
We give honor and praise,
For people are free.
WAKE, SONS OF THE PILGRIMS.
Air—"M'Gregor's Gathering."
Air—"M'Gregor's Gathering."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Wake, sons of the Pilgrims, and look to your right!
The despots of Slav'ry are up in their might:
Indulge not in sleep, it's like digging the graves
Of blood-purchased freedom—'tis yielding like slaves.
Then halloo, halloo, halloo to the contest,
Awake from your slumbers, no longer delay,
But struggle for freedom, while struggle you may—
Then rally, rally, rally, rally, rally, rally,
While our forests shall wave or while rushes a river,
Oh, yield not your birth-right! maintain it for ever!
Wake, Sons of the Pilgrims! why slumber ye on?
Your chains are now forging, your fetters are done;
Oh! sleep not, like Samson, on Slavery's foul arm,
For, Delilah-like, she's now planning your harm.
Then halloo, halloo, halloo, to the contest!
Awake from your sleeping—nor slumber again,
Once bound in your fetters, you'll struggle in vain;
While your eye-balls may move, O wake up now, or never—
Wake, freemen! awake, or you're ruined forever!
Yes, freemen are waking! we fling to the breeze,
The bright flag of freedom, the banner of Peace;
The slave long forgotten, forlorn, and alone,
We hail as a brother—our own mother's son!
Then halloo, halloo, halloo, to the contest!
For freedom we rally—for freedom to all—
To rescue the slave, and ourselves too from thrall.
We rally, rally, rally, rally, rally, rally—
While a slave shall remain, bound, the weak by the stronger,
We will never disband, but strive harder and longer.
Wake up, sons of the Pilgrims, and look to your right!
The oppressors of slavery are rising in their power:
Don’t fall into a deep sleep, it’s like digging your own graves
Of freedom bought with blood—it’s giving in like slaves.
So shout, shout, shout for the fight,
Wake up from your slumber, don’t hesitate any longer,
But fight for your freedom while you still can—
Then gather, gather, gather, gather, gather, gather,
As long as our forests stand or rivers are flowing,
Oh, don’t give up your birthright! keep it forever!
Wake, Sons of the Pilgrims! why are you sleeping?
Your chains are being forged, your restraints are done;
Oh! don’t sleep, like Samson, in the foul embrace of Slavery,
For like Delilah, she’s planning to harm you now.
So shout, shout, shout for the fight!
Wake from your sleep—and don’t slumber again,
Once you’re trapped in chains, you’ll struggle in vain;
While your eyes may open, oh wake up now or never—
Wake, free people! awaken, or you’re doomed forever!
Yes, free people are waking! we fly to the wind,
The bright flag of freedom, the banner of Peace;
The long-forgotten, lonely slave,
We greet as a brother—our own mother’s son!
So shout, shout, shout for the fight!
For freedom we gather—for freedom for all—
To rescue the slave, and ourselves from bondage, too.
We gather, gather, gather, gather, gather, gather—
As long as one slave remains, bound by the stronger,
We will never disperse, but fight harder and longer.
OUR COUNTRYMEN ARE DYING.
Words by C.W. Dennison. Tune—"From Greenland's Icy Mountains."
Words by C.W. Dennison. Tune—"From Greenland's Icy Mountains."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Our countrymen are dying
Beneath their cankering chains,
Full many a heart is sighing,
Where nought but slav'ry reigns;
No note of joy and gladness,
No voice with freedom's lay,
Fall on them in their sadness,
To wipe those tears away.
Where proud Potomac dashes
Along its northern strand,
Where Rappahannock lashes
Virginia's sparkling sand;
Where Eutaw, famed in story,
Flows swift to Santee's stream,
There, there in grief and gory,
The pining slave is seen!
And shall New England's daughters,
Descendants of the free,
Beside whose far-famed waters
Is heard sweet minstrelsy—
Shall they, when hearts are breaking,
And woman weeps in woe,
Shall they, all listless waiting,
No hearts of pity show.
No! let the shout for freedom
Ring out a certain peal,
Let sire and youthful maiden,
All who have hearts to feel,
Awake! and with the blessing
Of Him who came to save,
A holy, peaceful triumph,
Shall greet the kneeling slave!
Our fellow countrymen are dying
Under their heavy chains,
So many hearts are sighing,
Where only slavery reigns;
No sounds of joy and happiness,
No voice singing freedom's song,
Reach them in their sadness,
To dry those tears.
Where the proud Potomac flows
On its northern banks,
Where the Rappahannock rushes
Virginia's beautiful shores;
Where Eutaw, known in stories,
Flows quickly to Santee's stream,
There, in grief and bloodshed,
The suffering slave is seen!
And will New England's daughters,
Descendants of the free people,
By whose famous waters
Beautiful music can be heard—
Will they, when hearts are breaking,
And women cry in sadness,
Will they, just waiting around,
Show no mercy?
No! let the shout for freedom
Ring out loud and clear,
Let fathers and young maidens,
Everyone who has a heart to feel,
Awake! and with the blessing
Of Him who came to save,
A holy, peaceful triumph,
Shall greet the kneeling servant!
We ask not Martial Glory.
We ask not "martial glory,"
Nor "battles bravely won;"
We tell no boastful story
To laud our "favorite son;"
We do not seek to gather
From glory's field of blood,
The laurels of the warrior,
Steeped in the crimson flood—
But we can boast that Birney
Holds not the tyrant's rod,
Nor binds in chains and fetters,
The image of his God;
No vassal, at his bidding,
Is doomed the lash to feel;
No menial crouches near him,
No Charley's[3] at his heel.
His heart is free from murder,
His hand without its stain;
His head and heart united,
To loose the bondman's chain:
His deeds of noble daring,
Shall make the tyrant cower;
Oppression flees before him,
With all its boasted power.
Soon shall the voice of freedom,
O'er earth its echoes roll—
And earth's rejoicing millions
Be free, from pole to pole.
Then rally round your leader,
Ye friends of liberty;
And let the shout for Birney,
Ring out o'er land and sea.
We don't ask for "martial glory,"
Nor for "fights bravely won;"
We don't tell boastful stories
To praise our "favorite child;"
We don't seek to gather
From the battlefield of glory,
The laurels of the warrior,
Soaked in the red flood—
But we can boast that Birney
Doesn't wield the tyrant's power,
Nor chains and fetters,
To capture the image of his God;
No servant, at his command,
Is destined to endure hardship;
No one crouches near him,
No Charley's __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ at his heel.
His heart is free from murder,
His hands are clean;
His head and heart united,
To break the bondman's chains:
His acts of noble daring,
Will make the tyrant fear;
Oppression flees before him,
With all its supposed power.
Soon the voice of freedom,
Will resonate around the world—
And earth's rejoicing millions
Will be free, from one end of the earth to the other.
Then rally around your leader,
You friends of freedom;
And let the shout for Birney,
Ring out across land and sea.
COME, JOIN THE ABOLITIONISTS.
Air—"When I can read my title clear."
Air—"When I can read my title clearly."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Come, join the Abolitionists,
Ye young men bold and strong,
And with a warm and cheerful zeal,
Come, help the cause along:
Come help the cause along,
Come help the cause along;
And with a warm and cheerful zeal,
Come, help the cause along.
Oh that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
Oh that will be joyful,
When Slav'ry is no more,
When Slav'ry is no more,
When Slav'ry is no more:
'Tis then we'll sing, and off'rings bring,
When Slav'ry is no more.
Come, join the Abolitionists,
Ye men of riper years,
And save your wives and children dear,
From grief and bitter tears:
From grief and bitter tears,
From grief and bitter tears;
And save your wives and children dear,
From grief and bitter tears.
Oh that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
Oh that will be joyful,
When Slav'ry is no more,
When Slav'ry is no more,
When Slav'ry is no more:
'Tis then we'll sing, and off'rings bring,
When Slav'ry is no more.
Come join the Abolitionists,
Ye dames and maidens fair;
And breathe around us in our path,
Affection's hallowed air.
O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful,
When woman cheers us on,
When woman cheers us on,
When woman cheers us on,
To conquests not yet won;
'Tis then we'll sing, and offerings bring,
When woman cheers us on.
Come, join the Abolitionists,
Ye sons and daughters all;
Of this our own America,
Come at the friendly call.
O that will be joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful,
When all shall proudly say,
This, this is Freedom's day,
Oppression flee away!
'Tis then we'll sing and offerings bring,
When Freedom wins the day.
Come, join the Abolitionists,
You young men, brave and strong,
And with warm and cheerful enthusiasm,
Come, help us advance the cause:
Come help the cause move forward,
Come help the cause move forward;
And with warm and cheerful enthusiasm,
Come, help the cause move forward.
Oh, that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
Oh, that will be joyful,
When slavery is no more,
When slavery is no more,
When slavery is no more:
That's when we'll sing and bring our offerings,
When slavery is no more.
Come, join the Abolitionists,
You older men,
And save your beloved wives and children,
From sorrow and bitter tears:
From grief and bitter tears,
From grief and bitter tears;
And save your beloved wives and children,
From grief and bitter tears.
Oh, that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
Oh, that will be joyful,
When slavery is no more,
When slavery is no more,
When slavery is no more:
That's when we'll sing and bring our offerings,
When slavery is no more.
Come join the Abolitionists,
You ladies and young women;
And fill the air around us in our path,
With love's sacred vibe.
Oh, that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
Oh, that will be joyful,
When women cheer us on,
When women cheer us on,
When women cheer us on,
To victories not yet won;
That's when we'll sing and bring our offerings,
When women cheer us on.
Come, join the Abolitionists,
You all, sons and daughters;
Of this our own America,
Respond to the friendly call.
Oh, that will be joyful, joyful,
Oh, that will be joyful,
When all proudly say,
This, this is Freedom's day,
Oppression, flee away!
That's when we'll sing and bring our offerings,
When Freedom wins the day.
WE ARE COME, ALL COME.
By G.W.C.
By G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
We are come, all come, with the crowded throng,
To join our notes in a plaintive song;
For the bond man sighs, and the scalding tear
Runs down his cheek while we mingle here.
We are come, all come, with a hallowed vow,
At the shrine of slavery never to bow,
For the despot's reign o'er hill and plain,
Spreads grief and woe in his horrid train.
We are come, all come, a determined band,
To rescue the slave from the tyrant's hand;
And our prayers shall ascend with our songs to Him
Who sits in the midst of the cherubim.
We are come, all come, in the strength of youth,
In the light of hope and the power of truth;
And we joy to see in our ranks to-day,
The honored locks of the good and grey.
We are come, all come, in our holy might,
And freedom's foes shall be put to flight;
Oh God! with favoring smiles from thee,
Our songs shall soon chant the victory.
We have all gathered here, a large crowd,
To combine our voices in a heartfelt song;
For the enslaved man sighs, and the burning tear
Runs down his face while we come together here.
We have all gathered here, with a sacred promise,
At the altar of freedom, we will never bow,
For the tyrant's rule over land and sky,
Brings sorrow and pain in its dreadful wake.
We have all gathered here, a determined group,
To save the enslaved from the tyrant's grip;
And our prayers will rise along with our songs to Him
Who sits among the angels.
We have all gathered here, with the strength of youth,
In the light of hope and the power of truth;
And we’re glad to see in our ranks today,
The respected elders with their wise gray hair.
We have all gathered here, in our sacred strength,
And the enemies of freedom will be defeated;
Oh God! with your approving smiles,
Our songs will soon celebrate the victory.
THE LAW OF LOVE.
Words by a Lady. Music by G.W.C.
Lyrics by a Lady. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Blest is the man whose tender heart
Feels all another's pain,
To whom the supplicating eye
Was never raised in vain,
Was never raised in vain.
Whose breast expands with generous warmth,
A stranger's woe to feel,
And bleeds in pity o'er the wound,
He wants the power to heal,
He wants the power to heal.
He spreads his kind supporting arms,
To every child of grief;
His secret bounty largely flows,
And brings unasked relief.
To gentle offices of love
His feet are never slow;
He views, through mercy's melting eye,
A brother in his foe.
To him protection shall be shown,
And mercy from above
Descend on those, who thus fulfil
The perfect law of love.
Blessed is the man with a tender heart
Who empathizes with the suffering of others,
To whom the pleading gaze
Has never been raised for no reason,
Has never been brought up for nothing.
Whose heart expands with generous warmth,
And feels a stranger's pain,
And bleeds with pity over the wound,
Hoping for the ability to heal,
Wishing for the ability to heal.
He opens his loving arms,
To every grieving child;
His hidden kindness flows freely,
And provides help without asking.
In gentle acts of love,
He always responds quickly;
Through mercy's compassionate eyes,
He sees a brother in his foe.
To him, protection will be given,
And mercy from above.
Will fall on those who fulfill
The ultimate love law.
Oh! Charity!
Oh charity! thou heavenly grace,
All tender, soft, and kind,
A friend to all the human race,
To all that's good inclined.
The man of charity extends
To all his helping hand;
His kindred, neighbors, foes, and friends,
His pity may command.
The sick, the prisoner, deaf, and blind,
And all the sons of grief,
In him a benefactor find;
He loves to give relief.
'Tis love that makes religion sweet
'Tis love that makes us rise;
With willing minds, and ardent feet,
To yonder happy skies.
Oh charity! You heavenly grace,
All loving, gentle, and kind,
A friend to everyone on Earth,
To everything that's positive in thought.
The charitable person reaches out
With support for everyone;
His family, neighbors, foes, and friends,
His kindness responds to the call.
The sick, the prisoner, the deaf, and blind,
And everyone in pain,
In him a true benefactor find;
He finds pleasure in giving once more.
It’s love that makes faith feel sweet,
It's love that lifts us up;
With open hearts, and eager feet,
To those happy skies.
THE MERCY SEAT.
Words by Mrs. Sigourney. Music by G.W.C.
Words by Mrs. Sigourney. Music by G.W.C.
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From every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sure retreat—
Our refuge is the Mercy-seat.
There is a place where Jesus sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads,
A place than all beside more sweet—
We seek the blood-bought Mercy-seat.
There is a spot where spirits blend,
Where friend holds fellowship with friend;
Though sundered far, by faith we meet,
Around one common Mercy-Seat.
Ah! whither could we flee for aid,
When hunted, scourged, oppressed, dismayed,—
Or how our bloody foes defeat,
Had suffering slaves no Mercy-Seat!
Oh! let these hands forget their skill,
These tongues be silent, cold, and still,
These throbbing hearts forget to beat,
If we forget the Mercy-Seat.
From every stormy wind that blows,
From every rising tide of troubles,
There is a calm, a sure refuge—
Our safe haven is the Mercy-seat.
There is a place where Jesus pours
The oil of joy on our heads,
A spot sweeter than all others—
We seek the blood-bought Mercy-seat.
There is a place where spirits connect,
Where friends share fellowship;
Though separated by distance, through faith we gather,
Around one common Mercy-Seat.
Ah! where could we turn for help,
When pursued, beaten, oppressed, disheartened—
Or how could we overcome our bloody foes,
If suffering slaves had no Mercy-Seat!
Oh! let these hands forget their skill,
These tongues be silent, cold, and still,
These throbbing hearts forget to beat,
If we forget the Mercy-Seat.
Friend of the Friendless.
God of my life! to thee I call,
Afflicted at thy feet I fall;
When the great water-floods prevail,
Leave not my trembling heart to fail.
Friend of the friendless and the faint!
Where should I lodge my deep complaint?
Where but with thee, whose open door
Invites the helpless and the poor?
Did ever mourner plead with thee,
And thou refuse that mourner's plea?
Does not thy word still fixed remain,
That none shall seek thy face in vain?
Poor though I am, despised, forgot,
Yet God, my God forgets me not;
And he is safe, he must succeed,
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.
God of my life! I call out to you,
Afflicted, I fall at your feet;
When the great floods rise,
Don’t let my trembling heart collapse.
Friend to the friendless and weak!
Where should I share my deep sorrow?
Where but with you, whose open door
Welcomes the helpless and the poor?
Has any mourner ever asked you,
And you turned away their plea?
Doesn’t your promise still stand firm,
That no one who seeks you is ignored?
Though I’m poor, disregarded, and forgotten,
Still, God, my God, remembers me;
And he is secure, he must succeed,
For whom the Lord chooses to advocate.
WAKE YE NUMBERS!
Words by Lewis. Air, "Strike the Cymbals."
Words by Lewis. Air, "Strike the Cymbals."
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Wake ye numbers! from your slumbers
Hear the song of freedom pour!
By its shaking, fiercely breaking,
Every chain upon our shore.
Flags are waving, all tyrants braving,
Proudly, freely, o'er our plains;
Let no minions check our pinions,
While a single grief remains.
Proud oblations, thou Queen of nations!
Have been poured upon they waters;
Afric's bleeding sons and daughters,
Now before us, loud implore us,
Looking to Jehovah's throne,
Chains are wearing, hearts despairing,
Will ye hear a nation's moan?
Soothe their sorrow, ere the morrow
Change their aching hearts to stone:
Then the light of nature's smile
Freedom's realm shall bless the while;
And the pleasure mercy brings
Flow from all her latent springs;
Delight shall spread, shall spread her shining wings,
Rejoicing, Rejoicing, Rejoicing.
Daily, nightly, burning brightly,
Glory's pillar fills the air;
Hearts are waking, chains are breaking,
Freedom bids her sons prepare:
O'er the ocean, in proud devotion,
Incense rises to the skies;
From our mountains, o'er our fountains,
See, our Eagle proudly flies!
What deploring impedes his soaring?
Millions still in bondage sighing!
Long in deep oppression lying!
Shall their story mar our glory?
Must their life in sorrow flow?
Tears are falling! fetters galling!
Listen to the cry of woe!
Still oppressing! never blessing!
Shall their grief no ending know?
Yes! our nation yet shall feel;
Time shall break the chain of steel;
Then the slave shall nobly stand;
Peace shall smile with lustre bland;
Glory shall crown our happy land—
Forever.
Wake up, you people! from your sleep
Hear the song of freedom resonate!
As it shakes, fiercely breaking,
Every chain on our shore.
Flags are waving, standing up to tyrants,
Proudly and freely over our lands;
Let no followers hinder our wings,
While even one sadness remains.
Proud offerings, you Queen of nations!
Have been poured onto your waters;
Africa's suffering sons and daughters,
Now before us, loudly ask us,
Looking at God's throne,
Chains are wearing, hearts despairing,
Will you listen to the cries of a nation?
Soothe their sorrow, before tomorrow
Turns their hearts, once full of pain, to stone:
Then the light of nature's smile
Will bless freedom's realm awhile;
And the joy mercy brings
Will flow from all her hidden springs;
Delight shall spread, shall spread her shining wings,
Celebrating, Celebrating, Celebrating.
Daily, nightly, burning brightly,
Glory's pillar fills the air;
Hearts are waking, chains are breaking,
Freedom calls her sons to get ready:
Over the ocean, in proud devotion,
Incense spirals into the air;
From our mountains, over our fountains,
Look, our Eagle soars proudly!
What shame prevents his soaring?
Millions still suffer in bondage!
Long in deep oppression!
Will their story spoil our glory?
Must their life be filled with sorrow?
Tears are falling! fetters biting!
Hear the lament of distress!
Still oppressing! never helping!
Will their grief ever come to an end?
Yes! our nation will yet feel;
Time will break the chain of steel;
Then the slave shall nobly stand;
Peace will smile with gentle light;
Glory shall crown our happy land—
Always.
COMFORT FOR THE BONDMAN.
Air—"Indian Philosopher."
Air—"Indian Thinker."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Come on, my partners in distress,
My comrades in this wilderness,
Who groan beneath your chains;
A while forget your griefs and fears,
And look beyond this vale of tears,
To yon celestial plains.
Beyond the bounds of time and space,
Look forward to that heavenly place,
Which mortals never trod;
On faith's strong eagle pinions rise,
Work out your passage to the skies,
And scale the mount of God.
If, like our Lord, we suffer here,
We shall before his face appear,
And at his side sit down;
To patient faith the prize is sure,
For all who to the end endure
Shall wear a glorious crown.
Thrice blessed, exalted, blissful hope!
It lifts our fainting spirits up,
It brings to life the dead;
Our bondage here will soon be past,
Then we shall rise and reign at last,
Triumphant with our Head.
Come on, my friends in hardship,
My buddies in this wild place,
Who suffer under your weight;
For a moment, forget your pain and fears,
And look beyond this valley of tears,
To those heavenly fields.
Beyond the limits of time and space,
Look ahead to that beautiful place,
That humans have never walked;
On faith's strong wings arise,
Make your way to the skies,
And ascend the mountain of God.
If, like our Lord, we suffer here,
We’ll stand before him, so near,
And sit down next to him;
For patient faith will surely win,
For all who endure till the end
Will wear a glorious crown.
Three times blessed, uplifted, joyful hope!
It lifts our weary spirits high,
It brings the dead back to life;
Our struggles here won’t last for long,
Then we’ll rise and reign at last,
Victorious with our Leader.
Come and see the Works of God.
Lift up to God the shout of joy,
Let all the earth its powers employ,
To sound his glorious praise;
Say, unto God—"How great art thou!
Thy foes before thy presence bow!
How gracious are thy ways!
"To thee all lands their homage bring,
They raise the song, they shout, they sing
The honors of thy name."
Come! see the wondrous works of God;
How dreadful is his vengeful rod!
How wide extends his fame!
He made a highway through the sea,
His people, long-enslaved, to free,
And give them Canaan's land;
Through endless years his reign extends,
His piercing eye to earth he bends—
Ye despots! fear his hand.
O! bless our God, lift up your voice
Ye people! sing aloud—rejoice—
His mighty praise declare;
The Lord hath made our bondage cease,
Broke off our chains, brought sure release,
And turned to praise our prayer.
Lift up joyful shouts to God,
Let all the earth use its strength,
To proclaim his glorious praise;
Say to God—"How great you are!
Your enemies bow before you!
How kind are your ways!
"All nations bring their respect to you,
They raise songs, shout, and sing,
"The prestige of your name."
Come! See the amazing works of God;
How fearsome is his punishing power!
His fame spreads far!
He created a path through the sea,
To free his long-enslaved people,
And give them the land of Canaan;
For endless years his reign continues,
His watchful eye looks upon the earth—
You tyrants! Fear his power.
O! Bless our God, lift up your voice,
You people! Sing out loud—rejoice—
Praise him loudly;
The Lord has ended our suffering,
Broke our chains, brought true freedom,
And turned our prayers into praise.
HARK! A VOICE FROM HEAVEN.
Words by Oliver Johnson. Music—"Zion."
Words by Oliver Johnson. Music—"Zion."
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Hark! a voice from heaven proclaiming,
Comfort to the mourning slave;
God has heard him long complaining,
And extends his arm to save;
Proud oppression
Soon shall find a shameful grave;
Proud oppression,
Soon shall find a shameful end.
See, the light of truth is breaking
Full and clear on every hand;
And the voice of mercy speaking,
Now is heard through all the land:
Firm and fearless,
See the friends of freedom stand.
Lo! the nation is arousing
From its slumber long and deep;
And the friends of God are waking,
Never, never more to sleep,
While a bondman,
In his chains remains to weep.
Long, too long, have we been dreaming
O'er our country's sin and shame:
Let us now, the time redeeming,
Press the helpless captive's claim—
Till exulting,
He shall cast aside his chain.
Listen! A voice from heaven is declaring,
Support for the grieving slave;
God has heard his long complaints,
And reaches out to help;
Proud oppression
Will soon find a dishonorable grave;
Proud superiority,
Will soon meet a disgraceful end.
Look, the light of truth is shining
Bright and clear everywhere;
And the voice of mercy calling,
Is now heard all over the country:
Strong and unafraid,
See the friends of freedom standing.
Behold! The nation is waking
From its long and deep sleep;
And the followers of God are stirring,
Never to sleep again,
While imprisoned,
He keeps weeping in his chains.
For too long, we have been dreaming
About our nation's wrongdoings and disgrace:
Let us now, with time redeeming,
Support the helpless captive—
Until happily,
He can break free from his constraints.
THE PLEASANT LAND WE LOVE.
Words by N.P. Willis. Air, Carrier Dove.
Words by N.P. Willis. Air, Carrier Dove.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Joy to the pleasant land we love,
The land our fathers trod!
Joy to the land for which they won
"Freedom to worship God."
For peace on all its sunny hills,
On every mountain broods,
And sleeps by all its gushing rills,
And all its mighty floods.
The wife sits meekly by the hearth,
Her infant child beside;
The father on his noble boy
Looks with a fearless pride.
The grey old man, beneath the tree,
Tales of his childhood tells;
And sweetly in the hush of morn
Peal out the Sabbath bells.
And we are free—but is there not
One blot upon our name?
Is our proud record written fair
Upon the scroll of fame?
Our banner floateth by the shore,
Our flag upon the sea;
But when the fettered slave is loosed,
We shall be truly free!
Joy to the lovely land we cherish,
The land our ancestors trod!
Joy to the land for which they fought
"Freedom to worship God."
For peace on all its sunny hills,
On every mountain sits,
And sleeps by all its flowing streams,
And all its powerful rivers.
The wife sits quietly by the fire,
Her baby next to her;
The father gazes at his noble boy
With bold pride.
The gray old man, beneath the tree,
Shares childhood stories;
And sweetly in the morning stillness
Ring out the Sabbath bells.
And we are free—but isn’t there
One blemish on our reputation?
Is our proud history written clearly
On the fame list?
Our banner flies by the shore,
Our flag on the sea;
But when the bound slave is freed,
We'll be truly free!
The Freed Slave.
Yet once again, once more again,
My bark bounds o'er the wave;
They know not, who ne'er clanked the chain,
What 'tis to be a slave:
To sit alone, beside the wood,
And gaze upon the sky:
This may, indeed, be solitude,
But 'tis not slavery.
Fatigued with labor's noontide task,
To sigh in vain for sleep;
Or faintly smile, our griefs to mask,
When 't would be joy to weep;
To court the shade of leafy bower,
Thirst for the freedom wave,
But to obtain denied the power—
This is to be a slave!
Son of the sword! on honor's field
'Tis thine to find a grave;
Yet, when from life's worst ill 'twould shield,
It comes not to the slave.
The lightsome to the heavy heart,
The laugh changed to the sigh;
To live from all we love apart—
Oh! this is slavery.
Yet once again, once more again,
My boat jumps over the waves;
They don’t know, who’ve never clanked the chain,
What it’s like to be a slave:
To sit alone, beside the woods,
And gaze up at the sky:
This may, indeed, be solitude,
But it's not slavery.
Tired from labor's midday work,
To sigh fruitlessly for sleep;
Or faintly smile, hiding our grief,
When it feels right to cry with joy;
To seek the shade of leafy cover,
Yearning for the freedom wave,
But to gain it being denied the power—
This is meant to be a slave!
Son of the sword! on honor's field,
It's up to you to find a grave;
Yet, when from life's worst pain it would shield,
It doesn't come to the slave.
The light-hearted to the heavy heart,
The laughter turned into a sigh;
To live apart from all we love—
Oh! this is exploitation.
The Liberty Flag.
ALTERED FROM J.H. AIKMAN.
ADAPTED FROM J.H. AIKMAN.
Fling abroad its folds to the cooling breeze,
Let it float at the mast-head high;
And gather around, all hearts resolved,
To sustain it there or die:
An emblem of peace and hope to the world,
Unstained let it ever be;
And say to the world, where'er it waves,
Our flag is the flag of the free!
That banner proclaims to the list'ning earth,
That the reign of base tyrants is o'er,
The galling chain of the cruel lord,
Shall enslave mankind no more:
An emblem of hope to the poor and crushed,
O place it where all may see;
And shout with glad voice as you raise it high,
Our flag is the flag of the free!
Then on high, on high let that banner wave,
And lead us the foe to meet,
Let it float in triumph o'er our heads,
Or be our winding sheet;
And never, oh, never be it furled,
'Till it wave o'er earth and sea;
And all mankind shall swell the shout
Our flag is the flag of the free.
Spread its folds to the cooling breeze,
Let it soar high at the top of the mast;
And gather around, all hearts determined,
To stay there or perish:
An emblem of peace and hope for the world,
May it always stay pure;
And tell the world, wherever it flies,
Our flag represents freedom!
That banner declares to the listening earth,
The era of harsh tyrants is over,
The oppressive chains of the harsh lord,
Will no longer oppress humanity:
An emblem of hope to the downtrodden,
Oh, put it where everyone can see it;
And shout with joy as you raise it high,
Our flag is the flag of the free!
So high, so high let that banner fly,
And guide us to confront the enemy,
Let it wave in triumph above our heads,
Or act as our shroud;
And never, oh, never let it be furled,
Until it soars over land and sea;
And all of humanity will join in the shout,
Our flag represents freedom.
MARCH TO THE BATTLEFIELD.
Parody by G.W.C. Air "Oft in the stilly night."
Parody by G.W.C. Air "Often in the quiet night."
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March to the battlefield,
The foe is now before us;
Each heart is freedom's shield,
And heaven is smiling o'er us.
The woes and pains of slavery's chains,
That bind three millions under;
In proud disdain we'll burst their chain,
And tear each link asunder.
Who for his country brave,
Would fly from her invader?
Who his base life to save
Would traitor like degrade her?
Our hallowed cause—
Our homes and laws,
'Gainst tyrant hosts sustaining,
We'll win a crown of bright renown,
Or die, man's rights maintaining,
March to the battlefield, &c.
March to the battlefield,
The enemy is right in front of us;
Each heart is a shield for freedom,
And the heavens are keeping an eye on us.
The suffering and pain of slavery's chains,
That keeps three million trapped;
In proud defiance we’ll break their chains,
And break each link apart.
Who for his country is brave,
Would she run from her invader?
Who would save his own life,
By humiliating her like a traitor?
Our sacred cause—
Our homes and laws,
Against tyrannical forces defending,
We’ll achieve a reputation of bright fame,
Or die, upholding human rights,
March to the battlefield, etc.
Oft in the Chilly Night.
BY PIERPONT.
BY PIERPONT.
Oft in the chilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
When all her silvery light
The moon is pouring round me,
Beneath its ray I kneel and pray
That God would give some token
That slavery's chains on Southern plains,
Shall all ere long be broken:
Yes, in the chilly night,
Though slavery's chain has bound me,
Kneel I, and feel the might
Of God's right arm around me.
When at the driver's call,
In cold or sultry weather,
We slaves, both great and small,
Turn out to toil together,
I feel like one from whom the sun
Of hope has long departed;
And morning's light, and weary night,
Still find me broken hearted:
Thus, when the chilly breath
Of night is sighing round me,
Kneel I, and wish that death
In his cold chain had bound me.
Often in the chilly night,
Before sleep takes over me,
When all her silver light
The moon is shining around me,
I kneel beneath its glow and pray
That God would send a sign.
That the chains of slavery on Southern fields,
Will be broken soon:
Yes, in the chilly night,
Even though I'm bound by the chains of slavery,
I kneel and feel the strength
Of God's powerful arm surrounding me.
When at the driver's command,
In cold or hot weather,
We slaves, both big and small,
Let's collaborate at work,
I feel like someone from whom the sun
Hope has long faded;
And morning's light, and weary night,
Still leave me heartbroken:
So, when the chilly breath
The night is whispering around me,
I kneel and wish that death
He had imprisoned me in his cold chains.
SONG OF THE FREE.
Parodied by G.W.C. Tune, Lutzow's Wild Hunt.
Parodied by G.W.C. Tune, Lutzow's Wild Hunt.
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From valley and mountain, from hilltop and glen,
What shouts thro' the air are rebounding!
And echo is sending the sounds back again,
And loud thro' the air they are sounding,
And loud through the air they are sounding:
And if you ask what those joyous strains?
'Tis the songs of bondmen now bursting their chains.
And who through our nation is waging the fight?
What host from the battle is flying?
Our true hearted freemen maintain the right,
And the monster oppression is dying,
And the monster oppression is dying:
And if you ask what you there behold?
'Tis the army of freemen, the true and the bold.
Too long have slave-holders triumphantly reigned,
Too long in their chains have they bound us;
To freedom awaking, no longer enchained,
The goddess of freedom has saved us,
The goddess of freedom has saved us:
And if you ask what has made us free?
'Tis the vote that gave us our liberty.
From valley and mountain, from hilltop and hollow,
What shouts through the air are echoing!
And the echoes are sending the sounds back again,
And they're ringing loudly through the air,
And they're ringing loudly through the air:
And if you ask what those joyful melodies are?
They’re the songs of the enslaved who are now breaking free from their chains.
And who in our nation is fighting the battle?
Which group is pulling back from the fight?
Our true-hearted free people stand for what's right,
And the beast of oppression is collapsing,
And the beast of oppression is collapsing:
And if you ask what you see there?
It's the army of free people, the brave and the strong.
Too long have slaveholders ruled with triumph,
They have kept us in chains for too long;
Awakening to freedom, no longer bound,
The goddess of freedom has saved us,
The goddess of freedom has saved us:
And if you ask what has set us free?
It's the vote that granted us our liberty.
Holy Freedom.
BY PIERPONT.
BY PIERPONT.
The bondmen are free in the isles of the main!
The chains from their limbs they are flinging!
They stand up as men!—never tyrant again,
In the pride of his heart, shall God's image profane!
It is Liberty's song that is ringing!
Hark! loud comes the cry o'er the bounding sea,
"Freedom! Freedom! Freedom, our joy is in thee!"
Alas! that to-day, on Columbia's shore,
The groans of her slaves are resounding!
On plains of the South their life-blood they pour!
O, Freemen! blest Freemen! your help they implore!
It is Slavery's wail that is sounding!
Hark! loud comes the cry on the Southern gale,
"Freedom! Freedom! Freedom or death, must prevail!"
O ye who are blest with fair Liberty's light,
With courage and hope all abounding,
With weapons of love be ye bold for the right!
By the preaching of truth put oppression to flight!
Then, your altars triumphant surrounding,
Loud, loud let the anthem of joy ring out!
"Freedom! Freedom!" list all the world to the shout!
The enslaved are free in the islands of the sea!
They are breaking free from their chains!
They stand tall as men!—no tyrant will again,
In the pride of his heart, he dishonors God's image!
Liberty's song is ringing out!
Listen! A loud cry comes over the waves,
"Freedom! Freedom! Freedom, we find our happiness in you!"
Sadly, today, on Columbia's shore,
The sounds of her slaves can be heard!
On southern plains, they pour out their lifeblood!
Oh, Freemen! blessed Freemen! they plead for your help!
It is the cry of Slavery that is echoing!
Listen! A loud cry comes on the southern winds,
"Freedom! Freedom! Freedom or death, we must win!"
O you who are blessed with the light of Liberty,
With plenty of courage and hope,
Be bold for what is right with the weapons of love!
By preaching the truth, chase oppression away!
Then, gather around your triumphant altars,
Let the anthem of joy be heard loudly!
"Freedom! Freedom!" let the whole world hear the cheer!
YE SONS OF FREEMEN.
Words by Mrs. J.G. Carter. Air, "Marseilles Hymn."
Words by Mrs. J.G. Carter. Melody, "Marseilles Hymn."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Ye sons of freemen wake to sadness,
Hark! hark, what myriads bid you rise;
Three millions of our race in madness
Break out in wails, in bitter cries,
Break out in wails, in bitter cries;
Must men whose hearts now bleed with anguish,
Yes, trembling slaves, in freedom's land
Endure the lash, nor raise a hand?
Must nature 'neath the whip-cord languish?
Have pity on the slave,
Take courage from God's word;
Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved, these captives shall be free.
The fearful storm—it threatens lowering,
Which God in mercy long delays;
Slaves yet may see their masters cowering,
While whole plantations smoke and blaze!
While whole plantations smoke and blaze!
And we may now prevent the ruin,
Ere lawless force with guilty stride
Shall scatter vengeance far and wide—
With untold crimes their hands embruing.
Have pity on the slave;
Take courage from God's word;
Pray, on, pray on, all hearts resolved—these captives shall be free!
With luxury and wealth surrounded,
The southern masters proudly dare,
With thirst of gold and power unbounded,
To mete and vend God's light and air!
To mete and vend God's light and air;
Like beasts of burden, slaves are loaded,
Till life's poor toilsome day is o'er;
While they in vain for right implore;
And shall they longer still be goaded?
Have pity on the slave;
Take courage from God's word;
Toil on, toil on, all hearts resolved these captives shall be free.
O Liberty! can man e'er bind thee?
Can overseers quench thy flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee,
Or threats thy Heaven born spirit tame?
Or threats thy Heaven born spirit tame?
Too long the slave has groaned bewailing
The power these heartless tyrants wield;
Yet free them not by sword or shield,
For with men's heart's they're unavailing,
Have pity on the slave:
Take courage from God's word;
Vote on! vote on! all hearts resolved—these captives shall be free!
You children of free people, rise to sadness,
Listen! Listen! so many voices are urging you to rise;
Three million of our people are in despair.
Burst into wails, into bitter cries,
Burst into wails, into bitter cries;
Must men whose hearts are filled with pain,
Yes, frightened individuals in a land of freedom
Endure the whip and not raise a hand?
Must nature endure suffering from cruelty?
Have compassion for the slave.
Draw strength from God's word;
Keep praying, keep praying, all steadfast hearts, these captives will be free.
The scary storm—it looms threatening,
Which God, in His mercy, has postponed for a long time;
Slaves might still see their masters shaking in fear,
While entire plantations are on fire and smoking!
While entire plantations are on fire and burning!
And now we might be able to prevent the destruction,
Before uncontrolled power moves with a guilty purpose
Spreads revenge far and wide—
With countless crimes, their hands are stained.
Have compassion for the enslaved;
Draw strength from God's word;
Keep praying, keep praying, all steadfast hearts—these captives will be free!
With luxury and wealth everywhere,
The southern masters confidently confront,
Driven by an insatiable desire for wealth and influence,
To measure and sell God's light and air!
To measure and sell God's light and air;
Like pack animals, slaves are burdened,
Until life's exhausting day is over;
While they hopelessly argue for their rights;
And will they still keep going?
Have compassion for the enslaved;
Draw strength from God's word;
Keep toiling, keep toiling, all steadfast hearts, these captives will be free.
O Liberty! Can anyone ever shackle you?
Can supervisors put out your fire?
Can dungeons, locks, or bars hold you back,
Or do threats suppress your spirit that comes from Heaven?
Or do threats suppress your spirit that was born from Heaven?
For too long, the enslaved person has suffered in despair.
Under the power these ruthless tyrants hold;
But don’t liberate them with a sword or shield,
For men's hearts, they don’t have any impact,
Have compassion for the enslaved:
Draw strength from God's word;
Keep voting, keep voting, all steadfast hearts—these captives will be free!
ARE YE TRULY FREE?
Words by J.R. Lowell. Air, "Martyn."
Words by J.R. Lowell. Tune: "Martyn."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Men! whose boast it is that ye
Come of fathers brave and free;
If there breathe on earth a slave,
Are ye truly free and brave?
Are ye not base slaves indeed,
Men unworthy to be freed?
If ye do not feel the chain,
When it works a brother's pain?
Women! who shall one day bear
Sons to breathe God's bounteous air,
If ye hear without a blush,
Deeds to make the roused blood rush
Like red lava through your veins,
For your sisters now in chains;
Answer! are ye fit to be
Mothers of the brave and free?[Pg 127]
Is true freedom but to break
Fetters for our own dear sake,
And, with leathern hearts forget
That we owe mankind a debt?
No! true freedom is to share
All the chains our brothers wear,
And with hand and heart to be
Earnest to make others free.
They are slaves who fear to speak
For the fallen and the weak;
They are slaves, who will not choose
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse,
Rather than, in silence, shrink
From the truth they needs must think;
They are slaves, who dare not be
In the right with two or three.
Men! who take pride in the fact that you
Come from brave and free fathers;
If there’s even one slave on this earth,
Are you truly free and brave?
Are you not lowly slaves indeed,
Men who don’t deserve to be free?
If you don’t feel the chains,
When they cause your brother pain?
Women! who will one day give birth to
Sons who will breathe God's generous air,
If you can hear without feeling embarrassed,
Actions that make the blood rush
Like molten lava through your veins,
For your sisters who are in chains;
Answer! are you worthy to be
Mothers of the brave and free?[Pg 127]
Is true freedom just breaking
Chains for our own sake,
And, with hardened hearts, forgetting
That we owe a debt to humanity?
No! true freedom is to share
All the chains our brothers wear,
And with hand and heart to be
Committed to making others free.
They are slaves who are afraid to speak
For the fallen and the weak;
They are slaves who will not choose
Hatred, ridicule, and abuse,
Instead of shrinking back in silence
From the truth they must acknowledge;
They are slaves who dare not stand
With the right side alongside two or three.
That’s my Country.
Does the land, in native might,
Pant for Liberty and Right?
Long to cast from human kind
Chains of body and of mind—
That's my country, that's the land
I can love with heart and hand,
O'er her miseries weep and sigh,
For her glory live and die.
Does the land her banner wave,
Most invitingly, to save;
Wooing to her arms of love,
Strangers who would freemen prove?
That's the land to which I cling,
Of her glories I can sing,
On her altar nobly swear
Higher still her fame to rear.
Does the land no conquest make,
But the war for honor's sake—
Count the greatest triumph won,
That which most of good has done—
That's the land approved of God;
That's the land whose stainless sod
O'er my sleeping dust shall bloom,
Noblest land and noblest tomb!
Does the land, in its true strength,
Yearn for Freedom and Justice?
Long to break free from humanity's
Chains of body and mind—
That's my country, that's the land
I can love with all my heart and soul,
Over her struggles, I weep and sigh,
For her glory, I'll live and die.
Does the land proudly wave her flag,
Invitingly, for salvation;
Welcoming strangers who wish
To prove themselves as free?
That's the land I hold dear,
Of her greatness, I can sing,
On her altar, I will nobly pledge
To elevate her fame even higher.
Does the land seek no conquest,
But fights for honor's sake—
Count the greatest victory won,
The one that brings the most good—
That's the land blessed by God;
That's the land whose pure soil
Over my resting place will bloom,
Noblest land and noblest grave!
LIBERTY BATTLE-SONG.
From "The Emancipator." Air—"Our Warrior's Heart."
From "The Emancipator." Song—"Our Warrior's Heart."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Arouse, ye friends of law and right,
Arouse, arouse, arouse!
All who in Freedom's cause delight,
Arouse, arouse, arouse!
The time, the time, is drawing near,
When we must at our posts appear;
Then clear the decks for action, clear!
Arouse, arouse, arouse!
Awake, and couch Truth's fatal dart
Awake! awake! awake!
Bid error to the shades depart,
Awake! awake! awake!
Prepare to deal the deadly blow,
To lay the power of Slavery low,
A ballot, lads, is our veto;
Awake! awake! awake!
Arise! ye sons of honest toil,
Arise! arise! arise!
Ye free-born tillers of the soil,
Arise! arise! arise!
Come from your workshops and the field,
We've sworn to conquer ere we'll yield;
The ballot-box is Freedom's shield,
Arise! arise! arise![Pg 129]
Unite, and strike for equal laws,
Unite! unite! unite!
For equal Justice! that's our cause
Unite! unite! unite!
Shall the vile slavites win the day?
Shall men of whips and blood bear sway?
Unite, and dash their chains away,
Unite! unite! unite!
March on! and vote the hireling down,
March on! march on! march on!
Our blighted land with blessings crown,
March on! march on! march on!
Shall Manhood ever wear the chain?
Shall Freedom look to us in vain?
Up to the struggle! Strike again!
March on! march on! march on!
Hurrah! the word pass down the line,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Birney's and Morris' name shall shine,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Like comets, on their country's page,
Without a cloud, undimmed by age,
Revered by patriot and by sage;
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Get up, friends of justice and law,
Rise and shine, rise and shine, rise and shine!
All who love Freedom's fight,
Get up, get up, get up!
The moment, the moment, is coming close,
When we must take our stand, we chose;
So clear the way for action, clear!
Wake up, wake up, wake up!
Wake up, and wield Truth's sharp dart
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
Make error fade away into the dark,
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
Get ready to throw the fatal blow,
To bring down the power of Slavery low,
A vote, my friends, is our protest;
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
Rise up! you children of honest labor,
Get up! Get up! Get up!
You free-born farmers of the land,
Get up! Get up! Get up!
Come from your workshops and the fields,
We’ve promised to win or we won't yield;
The ballot box is Freedom's shield,
Get up! Get up! Get up![Pg 129]
Join together and fight for equal laws,
Come together! come together! come together!
For equal Justice! that’s our fight
Come together! Come together! Come together!
Will the vile slaveholders win the day?
Will those of cruelty and blood hold sway?
Join together, break their chains away,
Come together! Come together! Come together!
Keep moving! and vote the corrupt down,
Keep going! Keep going! Keep going!
Bless our damaged land with prosperity,
Keep going! Keep going! Keep going!
Will true men ever wear the chains?
Will Freedom look at us in vain?
Get ready for the fight! Strike again!
Keep going! keep going! keep going!
Hooray! let the word spread wide,
Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
Birney's and Morris' names will shine,
Yay! Yay! Yay!
Like comets, on their nation's page,
Without a cloud, untouched by age,
Respected by both patriot and sage;
Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
Birney and Liberty.
Hurrah! the ball is rolling on,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
In spite of whig or loco don,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Our country still has hopes to rise,
The bravest efforts win the prize,
Hurrah! &c.
With joy elate our friends appear,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Our vaunting foes are filled with fear,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Ten thousand slaves have run away
From Georgia to Canada;
Hurrah! &c.
Lo! all the world for Birney now,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
See! as he comes the parties bow,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
No iron mixed with miry clay,
Will ever do, the people say,
Hurrah! &c.
Then up, ye hearties, one and all!
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Be faithful to your country's call;
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Let none the vote of freedom shun,
Run to the meeting—run, run, run!
Hurrah, &c.
Be Birney's name the one you choose,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
Let not a soul his ballot lose,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
No other man in this our day
Will ever do, the people say:
Hurrah! &c.
Hooray! The movement has started,
Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
No matter if you're a Whig or a Democrat,
Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
Our country still has hopes to rise,
The bravest efforts win the prize,
Yay! &c.
Our friends appear joyful and bright,
Yay! Yay! Yay!
Our boasting enemies are filled with dread,
Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
Ten thousand enslaved people have escaped,
From Georgia to Canada;
Yay! & etc.
Look! The world supports Birney now,
Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
See! As he comes, all sides bow,
Yay! Yay! Yay!
No iron mixed with muddy clay,
Will ever do, that's what people say,
Hooray! etc.
So come on, everyone, let's all unite!
Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
Be true to your country's call;
Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!
Let no one shy away from freedom's vote,
Run to the meeting—run, run, run!
Hooray, etc.
Choose Birney's name when you vote,
Yay! Yay! Yay!
Don't let anyone lose their vote,
Yay! Yay! Yay!
No other man in our time,
Will ever do, that's what people say:
Hooray! &c.
THE BALLOT-BOX.
Air—from "Lincoln."
Air—from "Lincoln."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Freedom's consecrated dower,
Casket of a priceless gem!
Nobler heritage of power,
Than imperial diadem!
Corner-stone, on which was reared,
Liberty's triumphal dome,
When her glorious form appeared,
'Midst our own Green Mountain home.
Guard it, Freemen! guard it well,
Spotless as your maiden's fame!
Never let your children tell
Of your weakness, of your shame;
That their fathers basely sold,
What was bought with blood and toil,
That you bartered right for gold,
Here, on Freedom's sacred soil.
Let your eagle's quenchless eye,
Fixed, unerring, sleepless, bright,
Watch, when danger hovers nigh,
From his lofty mountain height;
While the stripes and stars shall wave
O'er this treasure, pure and free—
The land's Palladium, it shall save
The home and shrine of liberty.
Freedom's sacred gift,
A treasure of great value!
A greater legacy of strength,
Better than a royal crown!
The foundation on which stood,
Liberty's triumph dome,
When her glorious figure appeared,
In our own Green Mountain house.
Protect it, Free People! protect it fiercely,
As pure as your loved one's honor!
Never let your children say
Regarding your weakness, regarding your shame;
That their fathers shamefully sold,
What was achieved through struggle and sacrifice,
That you traded rights for money,
Here, on Freedom's sacred ground.
Let your eagle's unyielding gaze,
Focused, precise, alert, intelligent,
Watch when danger is near,
From his mountain viewpoint;
While the stripes and stars continue to fly
Over this treasure, pure and unrestrained—
The land's protector, it will safeguard
The home and sanctuary of freedom.
Christian Mother.
BY MISS C.
BY MS. C.
Christian mother, when thy prayer,
Trembles on the twilight air,
And thou askest God to keep
In their waking and their sleep,
Those, whose love is more to thee
Than the wealth of land or sea—
Think of those who wildly mourn
For the loved ones from them torn.
Christian daughter, sister, wife,
Ye who wear a guarded life,
Ye, whose bliss hangs not, thank God,
On a tyrant's word or nod,
Will ye hear, with careless eye,
Of the wild, despairing cry,
Rising up from human hearts,
As their latest bliss departs.
Blest ones, whom no hands on earth,
Dare to wrench from home and hearth,
Ye, whose hearts are sheltered well,
By affection's holy spell;
Oh, forget not those for whom
Life is nought but changeless gloom!
O'er whose days, so woe-begone,
Hope may paint no brighter dawn.
Christian mother, when your prayer,
Shakes in the evening air,
And you ask God to watch over
Those in their waking and their sleep,
Whose love means more to you
Than the wealth of land or sea—
Think of those who mourn so fiercely
For the loved ones torn away from them.
Christian daughter, sister, wife,
You who live a protected life,
You, whose happiness doesn’t depend, thank God,
On the whim of a tyrant,
Will you hear, with indifferent eyes,
The wild, desperate cry,
Rising from human hearts,
As their last joy slips away?
Blessed ones, whom no hands on earth,
Dare to tear from home and family,
You, whose hearts are well sheltered,
By the holy bond of love;
Oh, don’t forget those for whom
Life is nothing but endless gloom!
For whom, in their sorrowful days,
Hope can paint no brighter dawn.
THE LIBERTY PARTY.
Words by E. Wright, jr. Tune—"'Tis Dawn, the Lark is Singing."
Words by E. Wright, Jr. Tune—"'Tis Dawn, the Lark is Singing."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Will ye despise the acorn,
Just thrusting out its shoot,
Ye giants of the forest,
That strike the deepest root?
Will ye despise the streamlets
Upon the mountain side;
Ye broad and mighty rivers,
On sweeping to the tide?
Wilt thou despise the crescent,
That trembles, newly born,
Thou bright and peerless planet,
Whose reign shall reach the morn?
Time now his scythe is whetting,
Ye giant oaks, for you;
Ye floods, the sea is thirsting,
To drink you like the dew.
That crescent, faint and trembling,
Her lamp shall nightly trim,
Till thou, imperious planet,
Shall in her light grow dim;
And so shall wax the Party,
Now feeble at its birth,
Till Liberty shall cover
This tyrant trodden earth.
That party, as we term it,
The Party of the Whole—
Has for its firm foundation,
The substance of the soul;
It groweth out of Reason,
The strongest soil below;
The smaller is its budding,
The more its room to grow!
Then rally to its banners,
Supported by the true—
The weakest are the waning,
The many are the few:
Of what is small, but living,
God makes himself the nurse;
While "Onward" cry the voices
Of all his universe.
Our plant is of the cedar,
That knoweth not decay:
Its growth shall bless the mountains,
Till mountains pass away.
God speed the infant party,
The party of the whole—
And surely he will do it,
While reason is its soul.
Will you look down on the acorn,
Just starting to grow,
You giants of the forest,
That took root so deep?
Will you dismiss the streams
On the mountainside;
You vast and mighty rivers,
Are you going with the flow?
Will you overlook the crescent,
That shakes, just born,
You bright and unmatched planet,
Whose rule will welcome the morning?
Time is sharpening his scythe,
O giant oaks, for you;
You floods, the sea is eager,
To drink you like the dew.
That crescent, faint and shaking,
She'll trim her lamp every night,
Until you, commanding planet,
Fade in her glow;
And so will grow the Party,
Now weak at the beginning,
Until Liberty covers
This burdened planet.
That party, as we call it,
The All-Inclusive Party—
Is founded on a solid base,
The soul's essence;
It grows from Reason,
The most fertile soil below;
The smaller its initial bud,
The more space it has to grow!
So gather around its banners,
Supported by the real—
The weakest are fading,
The many are the few:
From what is small, yet living,
God nurtures it personally;
While "Onward" call the voices
Of all his universe.
Our plant is like the cedar,
That lasts forever:
Its growth will bless the mountains,
Until the mountains disappear.
God speed the newborn party,
The whole party—
And surely He will do it,
While reason is its essence.
BE FREE, O MAN, BE FREE.
Words by Mary H. Maxwell. Music by G.W.C.
Words by Mary H. Maxwell. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
The storm-winds wildly blowing,
The bursting billows mock,
As with their foam-crests glowing,
They dash the sea-girt rock;
Amid the wild commotion,
The revel of the sea,
A voice is on the ocean,
Be free, O man, be free.[Pg 135]
Behold the sea-brine leaping
High in the murky air;
List to the tempest sweeping
In chainless fury there.
What moves the mighty torrent,
And bids it flow abroad?
Or turns the rapid current?
What, but the voice of God?
Then, answer, is the spirit
Less noble or less free?
From whom does it inherit
The doom of slavery?
When man can bind the waters,
That they no longer roll,
Then let him forge the fetters
To clog the human soul.
Till then a voice is stealing
From earth and sea, and sky,
And to the soul revealing
Its immortality.
The swift wind chants the numbers
Careering o'er the sea,
And earth aroused from slumbers,
Re-echoes, "Man, be free."
The storm winds are raging,
The crashing waves taunt,
With their foam-capped crests shining,
They struck the sea rock;
Amidst the wild uproar,
The beach party,
A voice rises from the ocean,
Be free, O man, be free.[Pg 135]
Look at the sea foam leaping
High into the cloudy air;
Listen to the storm sweeping
With unleashed fury there.
What drives the mighty torrent,
And sends it spreading wide?
What turns the fast current?
What else is there, but the voice of God?
So then, tell me, is the spirit
Less noble or less free?
From whom does it inherit
The future of slavery?
When man can bind the waters,
So they don't roll anymore,
Then let him make the chains
To burden the human spirit.
Until then, a voice is whispering
From land and sea, and sky,
And revealing to the soul
Its everlasting nature.
The swift wind sings the numbers
Racing across the ocean,
And earth, stirred from slumbers,
Echoes, "Dude, be free."
Arouse! Arouse!
Arouse, arouse, arouse!
Ye bold New England men!
No more with sullen brows,
Remain as ye have been:
Your country's freedom calls,
Once bought by patriots' blood;
Rouse, or that freedom falls
Beneath the tyrant's rod!
Three million men in chains,
Your friendly aid implore;
Slight you the piteous strains
That from their bosoms pour?
Shall it be told in story,
Or troll'd in burning song,
New England's boasted glory
Forgot the bondman's wrong?
Shall freeman's sons be taunted,
That freedom's spirit's fled;
That what the fathers vaunted,
With sordid sons is dead?
That they in grovelling gain
Have lost their ancient fire,
And 'neath the despot's chain,
Let liberty expire?
Oh no, your father's bones
Would cry out from the ground;
Ay, e'en New England's stones
Would echo on the sound:
Rouse, then, New England men!
Rally in freedom's name!
In your bosoms once again
Light up the sleeping flame!
Awaken, awaken, awaken!
You brave New England guys!
No longer with gloomy faces,
Stay as you are:
Your country's freedom is calling,
Once won by patriots' sacrifice;
Rise up, or that freedom will fall
Under the tyrant's rule!
Three million men in chains,
We urgently need your help;
Can you ignore the desperate appeals
That come from the heart?
Will it be told as history,
Or sung in heartfelt songs,
That New England's claimed greatness
Forget the wrongs of the oppressed?
Will the sons of free men be mocked,
That spirit of freedom is gone;
That what the fathers proudly claimed,
Are greedy sons a curse?
That in their pursuit of profit
They've lost their spark.
And under the despot's rule,
Let freedom fade away?
Oh no, your fathers' spirits
Would shout from the ground;
Yes, even New England's stones
Would echo that call:
Awaken, then, New England men!
Come together for the sake of freedom!
Once again, in your hearts
Wake up the dormant fire!
THE LAST NIGHT OF SLAVERY.
Tune—"Cherokee Death-song."
Tune—"Cherokee Death Song."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Let the floods clap their hands,
Let the mountains rejoice,
Let all the glad lands
Breathe a jubilant voice;
The sun that now sets on the waves of the sea
Shall gild with his rising the land of the free.
Let the islands be glad!
For their King in his might,
Who his glory hath clad
With a garment of light,
In the waters the beams of his chambers hath laid,
And in the green waters his pathway hath made.
No more shall the deep,
Lend its awe-stricken waves,
In their caverns to steep
Its wild burden of slaves;
The Lord sitteth King—sitteth King on the flood,
He heard, and hath answered the voice of their blood.
Dispel the blue haze,
Golden fountain of morn!
With meridian blaze
The wide ocean adorn:
The sunlight has touched the glad waves of the sea,
And day now illumines the land of the free.
Let the floods cheer and celebrate,
Let the mountains rejoice,
Let all the happy places
Sing with a joyful voice;
The sun that now sets over the waves of the ocean
Will shine on the land of the free when it rises.
Let the islands celebrate!
For their King in his strength,
Who covers his glory
In a light robe,
In the waters, he has cast the beams from his chambers,
And in the green waters, he has made his path.
No more shall the depths,
Share their amazed reactions,
In their deep caves
Carry their wild burden of slaves;
The Lord sits as King—sits as King over the flood,
He heard and has answered the cries of their blood.
Remove the blue haze,
Golden morning fountain!
In bright midday light
Decorate the vast ocean:
The sunlight has touched the joyful waves of the sea,
And day now brightens the land of the free.
THE LITTLE SLAVE GIRL.
Words by a Lady. Air—Morgiana in Ireland.
Words by a Lady. Tune—Morgiana in Ireland.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
When bright morning lights the hills,
Where free children sing most cheerily,
My young breast with sorrow fills,
While here I plod my way so wearily:
Sad my face, more sad my heart,
From home, from all I had to part,
A loving mother, my sister, my brother,
For chains and lash in hopeless misery,
Children try it, could you try it;
But one day to live in slavery,
Children try it, try it, try it;
Come, come, give me liberty.
Ere I close my eyes to sleep,
Thoughts of home keep coming over me;
All alone I wake and weep—
Yet mother hears not—no one pities me—
Never smiling, sick, forlorn,
Oh that I had ne'er been born!
I should not sorrow to die to-morrow,
Then mother earth would kindly shelter me;
Children try it, could you try it!
Give me freedom, yes, from misery!
Children try it, try it, try it!
Come, come, give me Liberty!
When bright morning lights up the hills,
Where kids can sing freely and happily,
My young heart fills with sorrow,
As I make my way here, I feel so exhausted:
My face looks sad, but my heart feels even sadder.
From home, from everything I had to leave,
A loving mom, my sister, my brother,
For chains and whips in hopeless misery,
Kids, would you give it a try?
But to live one day in slavery,
Kids, give it a shot, give it a shot, give it a shot;
Come on, give me freedom.
Before I close my eyes to sleep,
Thoughts of home keep coming back to me;
All alone I wake and cry—
Yet Mom doesn't hear—no one cares about me—
Never smiling, unwell, alone,
Oh, how I wish I had never been born!
I wouldn't feel sad to die tomorrow,
Then the earth would kindly shelter me;
Kids, want to give it a try?
Give me freedom, yes, from misery!
Kids, give it a shot, give it a shot, give it a shot!
Come on, give me freedom!
STOLEN WE WERE.
Words by a Colored Man.
Words by a Black Man.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Stolen we were from Africa,
Transported to America;
It's work all day and half the night,
And rise before the morning light;
Sinner! man! why don't you repent?
For the judgment is rolling around!
For the judgment is rolling around!
[Pg 141]Like the brute beast in public street,
Endure the cold and stand the heat;
King Jesus told you once before
To go your way and sin no more;
Sinner! man! &c.
If e'er I reach the Northern shore,
I'll ne'er go back, no, never more;
I think I hear these ladies say,
We'll sing for Freedom night and day;
Sinner! man! &c.
Now let us all, yes, every man,
Vote for the Slave, for now we can;
Break every chain and every yoke,
Vote not for Clay nor James K. Polk;
Sinner! man! &c.
Come let us go for James G. Birney,
Who sells not flesh and blood for money;
He is the man you all can see,
Who gave his slaves their liberty;
Sinner! man! &c.
We hail thee as an honest Man,
God made thee on his noblest plan;
To stand for freedom in that hour,
To thrust a blow at Slavery's power;
Sinner! man! &c.
We were taken from Africa,
Transported to America;
It's work all day and half the night,
And we rise before the morning light;
Sinner! Dude! Why don't you turn your life around?
Judgment is coming soon!
Judgment is coming soon!
[Pg 141]Like a beast in the public street,
We endure the cold and face the heat;
King Jesus told you once before
To go your way and sin no more;
Sinner! Dude! &c.
If I ever reach the Northern shore,
I'll never go back, no, never more;
I think I hear these ladies say,
We'll sing for Freedom night and day;
Sinner! Dude! &c.
Now let us all, yes, every man,
Vote for the Slave, for now we can;
Break every chain and every yoke,
Vote not for Clay nor James K. Polk;
Sinner! Dude! &c.
Come let us support James G. Birney,
Who doesn't sell flesh and blood for money;
He is the man you can all see,
Who gave his slaves their liberty;
Sinner! Dude! &c.
We salute you as an honest Man,
God created you with a noble plan;
To stand for freedom in that moment,
To strike a blow against Slavery's power;
Sinner! Dude! &c.
A VISION.[4]
Words by Crary. Music by G.W.C.
Words by Crary. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
At dead of night, when others sleep,
Near Hell I took my station;
And from that dungeon, dark and deep,
O'erheard this conversation:
"Hail, Prince of Darkness, ever hail,
Adored by each infernal,
I come among your gang to wail,
And taste of death eternal."
"Where are you from?" the fiend demands,
"What makes you look so frantic?
Are you from Carolina's strand,
Just west of the Atlantic?
Are you that man of blood and birth,
Devoid of human feeling?
The wretch I saw, when last on earth,
In human cattle dealing?
"Whose soul, with blood and rapine stain'd,
With deeds of crime to dark it;
Who drove God's image, starved and chained,
To sell like beasts in market?
Who tore the infant from the breast,
That you might sell its mother?
Whose craving mind could never rest,
Till you had sold a brother?
"Who gave the sacrament to those
Whose chains and handcuffs rattle?
Whose backs soon after felt the blows,
More heavy than thy cattle?"
"I'm from the South," the ghost replies,
"And I was there a teacher;
Saw men in chains, with laughing eyes:
I was a Southern Preacher!
"In tassled pulpits, gay and fine,
I strove to please the tyrants,
To prove that slavery is divine,
And what the Scripture warrants.
And when I saw the horrid sight,
Of slaves by tortures dying,
And told their masters all was right,
I knew that I was lying.
"I knew all this, and who can doubt,
I felt a sad misgiving?
But still, I knew, if I spoke out,
That I should lose my living.
They made me fat, they paid me well,
To preach down abolition,
I slept—I died—I woke in Hell,
How altered my condition!
"I now am in a sea of fire,
Whose fury ever rages;
I am a slave, and can't get free,
Through everlasting ages.
Yes! when the sun and moon shall fade,
And fire the rocks dissever,
I must sink down beneath the shade,
And feel God's wrath for ever."
Our Ghost stood trembling all the while—
He saw the scene transpiring;
With soul aghast and visage sad,
All hope was now retiring.
The Demon cried, on vengeance bent,
"I say, in haste, retire!
And you shall have a negro sent
To attend and punch the fire."
At the dead of night, when everyone else is sleeping,
I took my spot near Hell;
And from that dark, deep dungeon,
I heard this conversation:
"Hail, Prince of Darkness, ever hail,
Loved by every single person,
I come among your crew to wail,
And experience eternal death.
"Where are you from?" the demon asks,
"Why do you look so panicked?"
Are you from the shores of Carolina,
Just west of the Atlantic?
Are you that man of blood and birth,
Totally lacking empathy?
The wretch I last saw on Earth,
In the business of human trafficking?
"Whose soul is stained with blood and violence,
With actions darkening its light;
Who drove God's image, starved and chained,
To sell like animals at a market?
Who ripped the infant from its mother,
So you could sell its mother?
Whose greedy mind could never rest,
Until you sold a brother?
"Who gave the sacrament to those
Whose chains and handcuffs are making noise?
Whose backs are soon feeling the blows,
Heavier than those of your livestock?
"I'm from the South," the ghost replies,
"And I was a teacher there;
I saw men in chains, laughing with their eyes:
I was a Southern preacher!
"In fancy pulpits, bright and elegant,
I tried to please the oppressors,
To prove that slavery is righteous,
And what scripture backs it up.
And when I witnessed the horrendous sight,
Of slaves suffering in agony,
And told their masters all was well,
I knew I was lying.
"I knew all of this, and who could doubt,
I felt an intense unease?
But still, I knew that if I spoke out,
I'd lose my way to survive.
They made me comfortable, they paid me well,
To denounce abolition,
I slept—I died—I woke up in Hell,
What a drastic change in my circumstances!
"I am now in a sea of fire,
Whose fury never calms;
I am a slave and can't break free,
For all eternity.
Yes! when the sun and moon disappear,
And fire tears the rocks apart,
I must sink into the darkness,
And feel God's wrath forever."
Our ghost trembled the whole time—
He saw the scene unfold;
With a shocked soul and a sorrowful expression,
All hope was diminishing.
The demon shouted, filled with anger,
"I say, quickly, get out!
And you will have a black servant
To wait on you and tend the fire."
GET OFF THE TRACK.
Words by Jesse Hutchinson. Air, "Dan Tucker."
Words by Jesse Hutchinson. Air, "Dan Tucker."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Ho! the car Emancipation
Rides majestic thro' our nation,
Bearing on its train the story,
Liberty! a nation's glory.
Roll it along, thro' the nation,
Freedom's car, Emancipation!
Men of various predilections,
Frightened, run in all directions;
Merchants, editors, physicians,
Lawyers, priests, and politicians.
Get out of the way! every station!
Clear the track of 'mancipation!
[Pg 145]Let the ministers and churches
Leave behind sectarian lurches;
Jump on board the Car of Freedom,
Ere it be too late to need them.
Sound the alarm! Pulpits thunder!
Ere too late you see your blunder!
Politicians gazed, astounded,
When, at first, our bell resounded:
Freight trains are coming, tell these foxes,
With our votes and ballot boxes.
Jump for your lives! politicians,
From your dangerous, false positions.
Railroads to Emancipation
Cannot rest on Clay foundation.
And the tracks of 'The Polk-itian'
Are but railroads to perdition!
Pull up the rails! Emancipation
Cannot rest on such foundation.
All true friends of Emancipation,
Haste to Freedom's railroad station;
Quick into the cars get seated,
All is ready and completed.—
Put on the steam! all are crying,
And the liberty flags are flying.
On, triumphant see them bearing,
Through sectarian rubbish tearing;
The bell and whistle and the steaming,
Startle thousands from their dreaming.
Look out for the cars while the bell rings!
Ere the sound your funeral knell rings.
See the people run to meet us;
At the depôts thousands greet us;
All take seats with exultation,
In the Car Emancipation.
Huzza! Huzza!! Emancipation
Soon will bless our happy nation.
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!!!
Hey! The Freedom Train
Travels majestically through our country,
Carrying with it the story,
Liberty! Our nation's pride.
Keep it moving across the country,
Freedom's train, Emancipation!
People of all kinds,
Frightened, scatter in all directions;
Merchants, editors, doctors,
Lawyers, clergy, and politicians.
Move aside! Every station!
Clear the tracks for freedom!
[Pg 145]Let the ministers and churches
Leave behind narrow divides;
Jump on the Freedom Train,
Before it’s too late to need them.
Sound the alarm! Pulpits tremble!
Before it’s too late to recognize your mistake!
Politicians stared, amazed,
When, at first, our bell rang:
Freight trains are coming, warn these deceivers,
With our votes and ballot boxes.
Jump for your lives! Politicians,
From your risky, false positions.
Railroads to Emancipation
Cannot stand on Clay foundations.
And the tracks of 'The Polk-itian'
Are merely roads to ruin!
Pull up the tracks! Freedom
Cannot rely on such foundations.
All true supporters of Emancipation,
Hurry to Freedom's train station;
Quickly take your seats,
Everything is ready and set.—
Turn up the steam! Everyone's reaching out,
And the freedom flags are waving.
Onward, see them carrying,
Through religious clutter tearing;
The bell and whistle and the steaming,
Awaken thousands from their dreaming.
Be alert for the train while the bell is ringing!
Before the sound of your funeral bell rings.
See the people rush to greet us;
At the stations, thousands welcome us;
Everyone takes their seats with joy,
In the Freedom Train.
Hooray! Hooray!! Freedom
Will soon bless our happy nation.
Yay! Yay! Yay!!!
EMANCIPATION SONG.
Words from the "Bangor Gazette." Air, "Crambambule."
Words from the "Bangor Gazette." Air, "Crambambule."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Let waiting throngs now lift their voices,
As Freedom's glorious day draws near,
While every gentle tongue rejoices,
And each bold heart is filled with cheer,
The slave has seen the Northern star,
He'll soon be free, hurrah, hurrah!
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!
[Pg 147]Though many still are writhing under
The cruel whips of "chevaliers,"
Who mothers from their children sunder,
And scourge them for their helpless tears—
Their safe deliv'rance is not far!
The day draws nigh!—hurrah, hurrah!
Just ere the dawn the darkness deepest
Surrounds the earth as with a pall;
Dry up thy tears, O thou that weepest,
That on thy sight the rays may fall!
No doubt let now thy bosom mar:
Send up the shout—hurrah, hurrah!
Shall we distrust the God of Heaven?—
He every doubt and fear will quell;
By him the captive's chains are riven—
So let us loud the chorus swell!
Man shall be free from cruel law,—
Man shall be Man!—hurrah, hurrah!
No more again shall it be granted
To southern overseers to rule—
No more will pilgrims' sons be taunted
With cringing low in slavery's school.
So clear the way for Freedom's car—
The free shall rule!—hurrah, hurrah!
Send up the shout Emancipation—
From heaven let the echoes bound—
Soon will it bless this franchised nation,—
Come raise again the stirring sound?
Emancipation near and far—
Swell up the shout—hurrah! hurrah!
Let the crowd waiting now lift their voices,
As Freedom's glorious day nears,
While every gentle voice celebrates,
And each courageous heart is filled with joy,
The slave has seen the Northern star,
He'll soon be free, hooray, hooray!
Hooray, hooray, hooray, hooray!
[Pg 147]Though many still suffer under
The harsh whips of "masters,"
Who tear mothers from their children,
And punish them for their helpless tears—
Their safe escape is not far away!
The day is coming!—hooray, hooray!
Just before dawn, the deepest darkness
Covers the earth like a blanket;
Dry your tears, O you who weep,
So that light can shine on you!
Don't let doubt cloud your heart:
Send up the shout—hooray, hooray!
Should we distrust the God of Heaven?—
He will reassure every doubt and fear;
By him the captive’s chains are broken—
So let's raise our voices high!
People will be free from cruel laws,—
People will be People!—hooray, hooray!
No longer shall it be allowed
For Southern overseers to manage—
No more will sons of pilgrims be ridiculed
With a feeling of discomfort in the school of slavery.
So clear the path for Freedom's march—
The free shall govern!—hooray, hooray!
Send up the shout for Emancipation—
Let the echoes sound from heaven—
Soon it will bless this free nation,—
Come raise the inspiring sound again?
Emancipation near and far—
Raise up the shout—hooray! hooray!
HARBINGER OF LIBERTY.
Words by a Lady. Music by G.W.C.
Lyrics by a Woman. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
See yon glorious star ascending,
Brightly o'er the Southern sea!
Truth and peace on earth portending,
Herald of a jubilee!
Hail it, Freemen! Hail it, Freemen!
'Tis the star of Liberty.
[Pg 149]Dim at first—but widely spreading,
Soon 'twill burst supremely bright,
Life and health and comfort shedding
O'er the shades of moral night;
Hail it, Bondmen!
Slavery cannot bear its light.
Few its rays—'t is but the dawning
Of the reign of truth and peace;
Joy to slaves—yet sad forewarning,
To the tyrants of our race;
Tremble, Tyrants!
Soon your cruel pow'r will cease.
Earth is brighten'd by the glory
Of its mild and peaceful rays;
Ransom'd slaves shall tell the story,
See its light, and sing its praise;
Hail it, Christians!
Harbinger of better days.
See that glorious star rising,
Brightly over the southern sea!
Bringing truth and peace on earth,
Celebration is here!
Hello, Free People! Hello, Free People!
It's the Statue of Liberty.
[Pg 149]Dim at first—but spreading wide,
Soon it will shine very brightly,
Bringing life, health, and comfort
Across the darkness of moral night;
Hail it, Enslaved!
Slavery can't bear its light.
Few its rays—it's just the beginning
Of the rule of truth and peace;
Joy for slaves—but a sad warning,
To the oppressors of our people;
Tremble, Rulers!
Soon, your harsh control will come to an end.
Earth is lit by the glory
Of its calm and soothing rays;
Freed slaves will share the story,
See its light and sing its praises;
Hail, Christians!
Sign of better days ahead.
Light of Truth.
Hark! a voice from heaven proclaiming
Comfort to the mourning slave;
God has heard him long complaining,
And extends his arm to save;
Proud Oppression
Soon shall find a shameful grave.
See! the light of truth is breaking,
Full and clear on ev'ry hand;
And the voice of mercy, speaking,
Now is heard through all the land;
Firm and fearless,
See the friends of Freedom stand!
Lo! the nation is arousing
From its slumbers, long and deep;
And the church of God is waking,
Never, never more to sleep,
While a bondman,
In his chains remains to weep.
Long, too long, have we been dreaming,
O'er our country's sin and shame;
Let us now, the time redeeming,
Press the helpless captive's claim,
Till, exulting,
He shall cast aside his chain.
Listen! A voice from heaven declares
Comfort to the grieving worker;
God has heard his long complaints,
And reaches out to help;
Pride in Oppression
Will soon find a shameful grave.
Look! The light of truth is emerging,
Bright and clear everywhere;
And the voice of mercy is speaking,
Now heard everywhere;
Bold and fearless,
See the friends of Freedom standing!
Behold! The nation is waking
From its long and deep sleep;
And the church of God is stirring,
Never sleep again,
While one enslaved person,
In chains, still weeps.
For too long, we've been dreaming,
Regarding our country’s wrongdoings and disgrace;
Let’s now, as time allows,
Press the captive's claim,
Until, celebrating,
He can break free from his chains.
ODE TO JAMES G. BIRNEY.
Words by Elizur Wright. Music by G.W.C.
Words by Elizur Wright. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
We hail thee, Birney, just and true,
The calm and fearless, staunch and tried,
The bravest of the valiant few,
Our country's hope, our country's pride!
In Freedom's battle take the van;
We hail thee as an honest man.
Thy country, in her darkest hour,
When heroes bend at Mammon's shrine,
And virtue sells herself to Power,
Lights up in smiles at deeds like thine!
Then welcome to the battle's van—
We hail thee as an honest man!
Thy own example leads the way
From Egypt's gloom to Canaan's light;
Thy justice is the breaking day
Of Slavery's long and guilty night;
Then welcome to the battle's van—
We hail thee as an honest man.
Thine is the eagle eye to see,
And thine a human heart to feel;
A worthy leader of the free,
We'll trust thee with a Nation's weal;
We'll trust thee in the battle's van—
We hail thee as an honest man.
An honest man—an honest man—
God made thee on his noblest plan,
To do the right and brave the scorn;
To stand in Freedom's "hope forlorn;"
Then welcome to the triumph's van—
We hail thee as our chosen man!
We salute you, Birney, just and true,
The calm, fearless, loyal, and tested,
The bravest of the few brave souls,
Our nation's hope, our nation's pride!
In Freedom's fight, take the lead;
We salute you as an honest person.
Your country, in her darkest hour,
When heroes give in to the demands of money,
And virtue sells itself for power,
Brighten up with joy at actions like yours!
Then welcome to the fight’s front lines—
We salute you as an genuine person!
Your example shows the way
From the darkness of Egypt to the light of Canaan;
Your justice is the dawn
Of slavery's long and shameful night;
Then welcome to the fight’s front lines—
We salute you as an honest person.
You have the sharp eye to see,
And you have a human heart to feel;
A worthy leader of the free,
We’ll trust you with the nation's future;
We'll trust you in the fight's front lines—
We salute you as an honest person.
An honest person—an honest person—
God created you as his greatest masterpiece,
To do what’s right and brave the criticism;
To stand in Freedom's "hopeless fight;"
Then welcome to the victory's front lines—
We acknowledge you as our selected leader.!
A TRIBUTE TO DEPARTED WORTH.[5]
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Oh, it is not the tear at this moment shed,
When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him,
That can tell how beloved was the soul that's fled,
Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him:
'Tis the tear through many a long day wept,
Through a life by his loss all shaded,
'Tis the sad remembrance fondly kept,
When all other griefs have faded.
Oh! thus shall we mourn, and his memory's light
While it shines through our hearts will improve them;
For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright,
When we think how he lived but to love them.
And as buried saints the grave perfume,
Where fadeless they've long been lying;—
So our hearts shall borrow a sweetening bloom
From the image he left there in dying.
Oh, it's not the tear shed at this moment,
When the cold ground has just been placed over him,
That can show how loved was the soul that's gone,
Or how deeply we mourn him in our hearts:
It's the tears we shed day after day,
Through a life overshadowed by his absence,
It's the sad memories we hold dear,
When all other sadness has disappeared.
Oh! this is how we will grieve, and the light of his memory
As it shines in our hearts, it will lift us up;
For worth will seem more beautiful, and truth brighter,
When we think about how he lived just to love them.
And just as buried saints scent the grave,
Where they've been resting for a long time;
So our hearts will gather a sweet bloom
From the memory he left behind when he passed away.
THE LIBERTY VOTER’S SONG.
Words by E. Wright, jr. Air, from "Niel Gow's Farewell."
Words by E. Wright, Jr. Air, from "Niel Gow's Farewell."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
The vote, the vote, the mighty vote,
Though once we used a humbler note,
And prayed our servants to be just,
We tell the now they must, they must.
Chorus.
The tyrant's grapple, by our vote,
We'll loosen from our brother's throat,
With Washington we here agree,
The vote's the weapon of the free.
We'll scatter not the precious power
On parties that to slavery cower;
But make it one against the wrong,
Till down it comes, a million strong.
The tyrant's grapple, &c.
We'll bake the dough-face with our vote,
Who stood the scorching when we wrote;
And paler than the milky way,
We'll bake the plastic face of Clay.
The tyrant's grapple, &c.
Our vote shall teach all statesmen law,
Who in the Southern harness draw;
So well contented to be slaves,
They fain would prove their fathers knaves!
The tyrant's grapple, &c.
We'll not provoke our wives to use
A power that we through fear abuse;
His mother shall not blush to own
One voter of us for a son.
The tyrant's grapple, by our vote,
We'll loosen from our brother's throat;
With Washington we here agree,
Whose mother taught him to be free!
The vote, the vote, the powerful vote,
Though we once used a humbler tone,
And asked our leaders to be fair,
We now say they must, they must.
Chorus.
The tyrant's grip, through our vote,
We'll loosen from our brother's neck,
Along with Washington, we agree,
The vote is the tool of the free.
We won't waste the precious power
On parties that submit to slavery;
But unite it against the injustice,
Until it falls, a million strong.
The tyrant's hold, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
We'll confront the coward with our vote,
Who took the heat when we wrote;
And paler than the Milky Way,
We'll confront the plastic face of Clay.
The tyrant's grip, etc.
Our vote will teach all lawmakers law,
Who get stuck in the Southern harness;
So content to be slaves,
They'd gladly make their fathers look bad!
The tyrant's control, &c.
We won't push our wives to use
A power that we misuse out of fear;
His mother won't feel ashamed to claim
One of us as her son.
The tyrant's hold, through our vote,
We'll free ourselves from our brother's grip;
Washington and we agree,
Whose mom taught him to be free!
THE LIBERTY BALL.
G.W.C. Air, "Rosin the Bow."
G.W.C. Air, "Rosin the Bow."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Come all ye true friends of the nation,
Attend to humanity's call;
Come aid the poor slave's liberation,
And roll on the liberty ball—
And roll on the liberty ball—
And roll on the liberty ball,
Come aid the poor slave's liberation,
And roll on the liberty ball.
The Liberty hosts are advancing—
For freedom to all they declare;
The down-trodden millions are sighing—
Come, break up our gloom of despair.
Come break up our gloom of despair, &c.
Ye Democrats, come to the rescue,
And aid on the liberty cause,
And millions will rise up and bless you
With heart-cheering songs of applause,
With heart-cheering songs, &c.
Ye Whigs forsake Clay and John Tyler!
And boldly step into our ranks;
We'll spread our pure banner still wider,
And invite all the friends of the banks,—
And invite all the friends of the banks, &c.
And when we have formed the blest union
We'll firmly march on, one and all—
We'll sing when we meet in communion,
And roll on the liberty ball,
And roll on the liberty ball, &c.
How can you stand halting while virtue
Is sweetly appealing to all;
Then haste to the standard of duty,
And roll on the liberty ball;
And roll on the liberty ball, &c.
The question of test is now turning,
And freedom or slavery must fall,
While hope in the bosom is burning,
We'll roll on the liberty ball;
We'll roll on the liberty ball, &c.
Ye freemen attend to your voting,
Your ballots will answer the call;
And while others attend to log-rolling,
We'll roll on the liberty ball—
We'll roll on the liberty ball, &c.
Come all you true friends of the nation,
Hear humanity's call;
Come help free the poor slave,
And keep the freedom movement alive—
And keep the freedom movement alive—
And continue the freedom movement,
Come help free the poor slave,
And keep the freedom movement alive.
The champions of Liberty are marching—
For freedom for everyone they declare;
The oppressed millions are sighing—
Come, lift us out of this darkness of despair.
Please help us rise from this gloom of despair, &c.
You Democrats, come to the rescue,
And support the cause of freedom,
And millions will rise up and thank you
With uplifting praise songs,
With uplifting songs, etc.
You Whigs abandon Clay and John Tyler!
And confidently join our ranks;
We'll spread our pure banner even wider,
And invite all the bank supporters,—
And invite all supporters of the banks, etc.
And when we have formed this blessed union
We'll move forward, together—
We'll sing when we gather in fellowship,
And keep the freedom movement going,
Keep the freedom movement going, etc.
How can you hesitate while virtue
Is warmly reaching out to everyone;
Then hurry to the standard of duty,
Keep the freedom movement alive;
Keep the freedom movement going, etc.
The critical question is changing,
And freedom or slavery must be determined,
While hope burns within our hearts,
We’ll keep the freedom movement going.
We'll keep the freedom movement going, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__, and so on.
You freemen, pay attention to your voting,
Your votes will answer the call;
And while others focus on log-rolling,
We'll keep the freedom movement going—
We'll keep the freedom movement going, etc.
The Trumpet of Freedom.
Hark! hark! to the Trumpet of Freedom!
Her rallying signal she blows:
[Pg 158]Come, gather around her broad banner,
And battle 'gainst Liberty's foes.
Our forefathers plighted their honor,
Their lives and their property, too,
To maintain in defiance of Britain,
Their principles, righteous and true.
We'll show to the world we are worthy
The blessings our ancestors won,
And finish the temple of Freedom,
That Hancock and Franklin begun.
Hurra, for the old-fashioned doctrine,
That men are created all free!
We ever will boldly maintain it,
Nor care who the tyrant may be.
When Poland was fighting for freedom,
Our voices went over the sea,
To bid her God-speed in the contest—
That Poland, like us, might be free.
When down-trodden Greece had up-risen,
And baffled the Mahomet crew;
We rejoiced in the glorious issue,
That Greece had her liberty, too.
Repeal, do we also delight in—
Three cheers for the "gem of the sea!"
And soon may the bright day be dawning,
When Ireland, like us, shall be free.
Like us, who are foes to oppression;
But not like America now.
With shame do we blush to confess it,
Too many to slavery bow.
We're foes unto wrong and oppression,
No matter which side of the sea;
And ever intend to oppose them,
Till all of God's image are free.
Some tell us because men are colored,
They should not our sympathy share;
We ask not the form or complexion—
The seal of our Maker is there!
Success to the old-fashioned doctrine,
That men are created all free!
And down with the power of the despot,
Wherever his strongholds may be.
We're proud of the name of a freeman,
And proud of the character, too;
And never will do any action,
Save such as a freeman may do.
We'll finish the Temple of Freedom,
And make it capacious within,
That all who seek shelter may find it,
Whatever the hue of their skin.
For thus the Almighty designed It,
And gave to our fathers the plan;
Intending that liberty's blessings,
Should rest upon every man.
Then up with the cap-stone and cornice,
With columns encircle its wall,
Throw open its gateway, and make it
A home and a refuge for all!
Hear! listen! to the Trumpet of Liberty!
She issues her rallying cry:
[Pg 158]Come, gather around her broad banner,
And fight against liberty's enemies.
Our ancestors pledged their honor,
Their lives and their property as well,
To uphold in defiance of Britain,
Their principles, just and true.
We'll show the world we are worthy
Of the benefits our ancestors struggled to achieve,
And complete the temple of Freedom,
That Hancock and Franklin started.
Cheers for the good old belief,
That all people are created free!
We will always stand up for it,
It doesn't matter who the tyrant is.
When Poland was fighting for freedom,
Our voices traveled overseas,
To wish her God-speed in the struggle—
That Poland, like us, could be free.
When oppressed Greece rose up,
And defeated the Muslim crew;
We rejoiced in the glorious outcome,
Greece gained its freedom as well.
We also celebrate repeal—
Three cheers for the "gem of the sea!"
And soon may the bright day come,
When Ireland, just like us, is free.
Like us, who oppose oppression;
But not like America now.
We blush with shame to admit it,
Too many submit to slavery.
We're against wrong and oppression,
Regardless of which side of the ocean;
And we will continue to oppose them,
Until all of God's creations are free.
Some say that because men are colored,
They shouldn't share our empathy;
We don't care about form or color—
The mark of our Creator is present!
Cheers for the good old belief,
All people are created free!
And down with the power of the tyrant,
Wherever he’s hiding.
We're proud of being free,
And we take pride in our character as well;
And we will never do anything,
Except for what a free person would do.
We'll complete the Temple of Freedom,
And make it roomy inside,
So that all who seek shelter may find it,
Regardless of their skin color.
For that’s how the Almighty designed it,
And provided our ancestors with the plan;
Intending that liberty's blessings,
Should be granted to every man.
So let’s raise the capstone and cornice,
And surround its walls with columns,
Open its gates wide, and make it
A home and safe haven for everyone!
BREAK EVERY YOKE.
Tune—"O no, we never mention her."
Tune—"Oh no, we never talk about her."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Break every yoke, the Gospel cries,
And let th' oppressed go free,
Let every captive taste the joys
Of peace and liberty.
Send thy good Spirit from above,
And melt th' oppressor's heart,
Send sweet deliv'rance to the slave,
And bid his woes depart.
Lord, when shall man thy voice obey,
And rend each iron chain,
Oh when shall love its golden sway,
O'er all the earth maintain.
With freedom's blessings crown his day—
O'erflow his heart with love,
Teach him that straight and narrow way,
Which leads to rest above.
Break every chain, the Gospel shouts,
And let the oppressed go free,
Let every captive experience the joys
Of peace and liberty.
Send your good Spirit from above,
And soften the oppressor's heart,
Bring sweet deliverance to the slave,
And let his troubles depart.
Lord, when will humanity obey your voice,
And break every iron chain?
Oh when will love reign supreme,
Across all the earth sustain?
With the blessings of freedom crown his day—
Overflow his heart with love,
Guide him along the straight and narrow path,
That leads to rest above.
THE YANKEE GIRL.
Words by Whittier. Music by G.W.C.
Words by Whittier. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
She sings by her wheel at that low cottage door,
Which the long evening shadow is stretching before;
With a music as sweet as the music which seems
Breathed softly and faint in the ear of our dreams!
How brilliant and mirthful the light of her eye,
Like a star glancing out from the blue of the sky!
And lightly and freely her dark tresses play
O'er a brow and a bosom as lovely as they!
[Pg 163]Who comes in his pride to that low cottage-door—
The haughty and rich to the humble and poor?
'Tis the great Southern planter—the master who waves
His whip of dominion o'er hundreds of slaves.
"Nay, Ellen—for shame! Let those Yankee fools spin,
Who would pass for our slaves with a change of their skin;
Let them toil as they will at the loom or the wheel,
Too stupid for shame, and too vulgar to feel!
"But thou art too lovely and precious a gem
To be bound to their burdens and sullied by them—
For shame, Ellen, shame!—cast thy bondage aside,
And away to the South, as my blessing and pride.
"Oh, come where no winter thy footsteps can wrong,
But where flowers are blossoming all the year long,
Where the shade of the palm tree is over my home,
And the lemon and orange are white in their bloom!
"Oh, come to my home, where my servants shall all
Depart at thy bidding and come at thy call;
They shall heed thee as mistress with trembling and awe,
And each wish of thy heart shall be felt as a law."
Oh, could ye have seen her—that pride of our girls—
Arise and cast back the dark wealth of her curls,
With a scorn in her eye which the gazer could feel,
And a glance like the sunshine that flashes on steel!
"Go back, haughty Southron! thy treasures of gold
Are dim with the blood of the hearts thou hast sold!
Thy home may be lovely, but round it I hear
The crack of the whip and the footsteps of fear!
"And the sky of thy South may be brighter than ours,
And greener thy landscapes, and fairer thy flowers;
But, dearer the blast round our mountains which raves,
Than the sweet summer zephyr which breathes over slaves!
"Full low at thy bidding thy negroes may kneel,
With the iron of bondage on spirit and heel;
Yet know that the Yankee girl sooner would be
In fetters with them, than in freedom with thee!"
She sings by her wheel at that small cottage door,
Where the long evening shadow stretches out before;
With a sound as sweet as the music that seems
To be softly breathed in the ear of our dreams!
How bright and cheerful the light in her eye,
Like a star shining out from the blue sky!
And lightly and freely her dark hair sways
Over a forehead and chest as lovely as they!
[Pg 163]Who comes in his pride to that low cottage door—
The arrogant and wealthy to the humble and poor?
It's the great Southern planter—the master who wields
His whip of control over hundreds of slaves.
"Nay, Ellen—for shame! Let those Yankee fools spin,
Who would be our slaves with a change of their skin;
Let them labor as they will at the loom or the wheel,
Too dull for shame, and too coarse to feel!
"But you are too beautiful and precious a gem
To be chained to their burdens and sullied by them—
For shame, Ellen, shame!—cast off your shackles,
And come down South, as my blessing and pride.
"Oh, come where no winter can harm your feet,
But where flowers are blooming all year long,
Where the shade of the palm tree covers my home,
And the lemon and orange blossom white in their bloom!
"Oh, come to my home, where my servants will all
Depart at your command and come at your call;
They will regard you as mistress with awe and respect,
And each wish of your heart will be treated like law."
Oh, if only you could have seen her—that pride of our girls—
Rise up and toss back the dark wealth of her curls,
With scorn in her eye that the observer could feel,
And a glance like the sunlight that reflects on steel!
"Go back, haughty Southron! Your treasures of gold
Are stained with the blood of the hearts you’ve sold!
Your home may be beautiful, but around it I hear
The crack of the whip and the sound of fear!
"And the sky of your South may be brighter than ours,
And greener your landscapes, and fairer your flowers;
But, more precious the wind around our mountains which rages,
Than the sweet summer breeze that blows over slaves!
"Full low at your command your blacks may kneel,
With the weight of bondage on spirit and heel;
Yet know that the Yankee girl would rather be
In chains with them, than in freedom with you!"
FREEDOM’S GATHERING.
Words from the Pennsylvania Freeman. Music by G.W.C.
Words from the Pennsylvania Freeman. Music by G.W.C.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
A voice has gone forth, and the land is awake!
Our freemen shall gather from ocean to lake,
Our cause is as pure as the earth ever saw,
And our faith we will pledge in the thrilling huzza.
Then huzza, then huzza,
Truth's glittering falchion for freedom we draw.
[Pg 166]Let them blacken our names and pursue us with ill,
Our hearts shall be faithful to liberty still;
Then rally! then rally! come one and come all,
With harness well girded, and echo the call.
Thy hill-tops, New England, shall leap at the cry,
And the prairie and far distant south shall reply;
It shall roll o'er the land till the farthermost glen
Gives back the glad summons again and again.
Oppression shall hear in its temple of blood,
And read on its wall the handwriting of God;
Niagara's torrent shall thunder it forth,
It shall burn in the sentinel star of the North.
It shall blaze in the lightning, and speak in the thunder,
Till Slavery's fetters are riven asunder,
And freedom her rights has triumphantly won,
And our country her garments of beauty put on.
Then huzza, then huzza,
Truth's glittering falchion for freedom we draw.
Let them blacken our names, and pursue us with ill,
We bow at thy altar, sweet liberty still!
As the breeze f'm the mountain sweeps over the river,
So, changeless and free, shall our thoughts be, for ever.
Then on to the conflict for freedom and truth;
Come Matron, come Maiden, come Manhood and youth,
Come gather! come gather! come one and come all,
And soon shall the altars of Slavery fall.
The forests shall know it, and lift up their voice,
To bid the green prairies and valleys rejoice;
And the "Father of Waters," join Mexico's sea,
In the anthem of Nature for millions set free.
Then huzza! then huzza!
Truth's glittering falchion for freedom we draw.
A voice has gone out, and the land is awake!
Our free people will gather from ocean to lake,
Our cause is as pure as the earth has ever seen,
And we’ll pledge our faith in the thrilling cheer.
Then celebrate, then celebrate,
Truth’s shining sword for freedom we raise.
[Pg 166]Let them tarnish our names and chase us with hate,
Our hearts will remain loyal to liberty still;
So rally! so rally! come one and come all,
With our armor ready, and echo the call.
Your hilltops, New England, will spring at the shout,
And the prairie and distant south will respond;
It will roll across the land until even the farthest glen
Repeats the joyful call again and again.
Oppression will hear it in its temple of blood,
And see on its walls the handwriting of God;
Niagara's roar will proclaim it loud,
It will blaze in the northern star in the crowd.
It will flash in the lightning, and roar with the thunder,
Till Slavery’s shackles are broken asunder,
And freedom has triumphantly claimed her rights,
And our country dons her garments of delight.
Then celebrate, then celebrate,
Truth’s shining sword for freedom we raise.
Let them tarnish our names and chase us with hate,
We bow at your altar, sweet liberty still!
As the breeze from the mountain sweeps over the river,
So, unchanging and free, will our thoughts be forever.
Then on to the fight for freedom and truth;
Come Matron, come Maiden, come Manhood and youth,
Come gather! come gather! come one and come all,
And soon the altars of Slavery will fall.
The forests will know it and lift up their voice,
To let the green prairies and valleys rejoice;
And the "Father of Waters," join Mexico's sea,
In Nature's anthem for millions set free.
Then cheer! Then cheer!
Truth's shining sword for freedom we raise.
Be kind to each other.
BY CHARLES SWAIN.
BY CHARLES SWAIN.
Be kind to each other!
The night's coming on,
When friend and when brother
Perchance may be gone!
Then 'midst our dejection,
How sweet to have earned
The blest recollection,
Of kindness—returned!
When day hath departed,
And memory keeps
Her watch, broken-hearted,
Where all she loved sleeps!
Let falsehood assail not,
Nor envy disprove—
Let trifles prevail not
Against those ye love!
Nor change with to-morrow,
Should fortune take wing,
But the deeper the sorrow,
The closer still cling!
Oh! be kind to each other!
The night's coming on,
When friend and when brother
Perchance may be gone.
Be kind to one another!
Night is coming,
When friends and brothers
Might be missing!
Then, amidst our sadness,
How great it is to have earned __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__
The blessed memory,
Of kindness—returned!
When the day has ended,
And memory keeps
Her vigil, heartbroken,
Where everything she loved rests!
Let not falsehood attack,
Nor let envy disprove—
Let trivial matters not
Stand against loved ones!
And don’t let tomorrow change,
If luck takes off,
But the deeper the sorrow,
The tighter we grip!
Oh! Be kind to one another!
Night is falling,
When friends and brothers
Could be gone.
PRAISE AND PRAYER.
Words by Miss Chandler.
Words by Ms. Chandler.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Praise for slumbers of the night,
For the wakening morning's light,
For the board with plenty spread,
Gladness o'er the spirit shed;
Healthful pulse and cloudless eye,
Opening on the smiling sky.
Praise! for loving hearts that still
With life's bounding pulses thrill;
Praise, that still our own may know—
Earthly joy and earthly woe.
Praise for every varied good,
Bounteous round our pathway strew'd!
Prayer! for grateful hearts to raise
Incense meet of prayer and praise!
Prayer, for spirits calm and meek,
Wisdom life's best joys to seek;
Strength 'midst devious paths to tread—
That through which the Saviour led.
Prayer! for those who, day by day,
Weep their bitter life away;
Prayer, for those who bind the chain
Rudely on their throbbing vein—
That repentance deep may win
Pardon for the fearful sin!
Praise for the peaceful night,
For the bright morning light,
For a table filled with food,
Joy that lifts the mood;
Healthy heartbeat and clear eyes,
Facing a cheerful sky.
Praise! for loving hearts that still
Feel life’s vibrant thrill;
Praise, that we can still know—
Earthly joy and earthly sorrow.
Praise for every good thing,
Generously spread along our way!
Prayer! for thankful hearts to offer
A fitting incense of prayer and praise!
Prayer, for spirits calm and humble,
Wisdom to seek life’s true joys;
Strength to walk the difficult paths—
The one the Savior led.
Prayer! for those who, day by day,
Suffer through their bitter life;
Prayer, for those who wear the chain
Harshly on their aching veins—
That deep repentance may bring
Forgiveness for the fearful sin!
THE SLAVE’S LAMENTATION.
A Parody by Tucker. Air, "Long, long ago."
A Parody by Tucker. Tune: "Long, long ago."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Where are the friends that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago!
Where are the hopes that my heart used to cheer?
Long, long ago, long, long ago!
Friends that I loved in the grave are laid low,
All hope of freedom hath fled from me now.
I am degraded, for man was my foe,
Long, long ago, long, long ago!
Sadly my wife bowed her beautiful head—
Long, long ago—long ago!
Oh, how I wept when I found she was dead!
Long, long ago—long ago!
She was my angel, my love and my pride—
Vainly to save her from torture I tried,
Poor broken heart! She rejoiced as she died,
Long, long ago—long, long ago!
Let me look back on the days of my youth—
Long, long ago—long ago!
Master withheld from me knowledge and truth—
Long, long ago—long ago!
Crushed all the hopes of my earliest day,
Sent me from father and mother away—
Forbade me to read, nor allowed me to pray—
Long, long ago—long, long ago!
Where are the friends who meant so much to me,
So long ago, so long ago!
Where are the hopes that once lifted my heart?
So long ago, so long ago!
Friends I cherished now rest beneath the ground,
All hope for freedom has vanished from me now.
I feel so low, for man was my enemy,
So long ago, so long ago!
Sadly my wife lowered her beautiful head—
A long time ago!
Oh, how I cried when I learned she was gone!
A long time ago!
She was my angel, my love, and my joy—
I desperately tried to save her from pain,
Poor broken heart! She found peace as she died,
So long ago!
Let me reflect on the days of my youth—
So long ago—ages ago!
The master kept knowledge and truth from me—
A long time ago!
Crushed all the hopes of my earliest days,
Sent me away from my father and mother—
Forbade me to read, and denied me to pray—
So long ago—so long ago!
THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.
Montgomery and Denison. Tune, "Duane Street."
Montgomery and Denison. Tune, "Duane Street."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
A poor wayfaring man of grief,
Hath often crossed me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief,
That I could never answer nay;
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went or whence he came;
Yet there was something in his eye,
Which won my love, I knew not why.
Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered—not a word he spake—
Just perishing for want of bread,
I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate, but gave me part again:
Mine was an angel's portion then,
For while I fed with eager haste,
The crust was manna to my taste.
'Twas night. The floods were out, it blew
A winter hurricane aloof:
I heard his voice abroad, and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof;
I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest,
I laid him on my couch to rest:
Then made the ground my bed and seemed
In Eden's garden while I dreamed.
I saw him bleeding in his chains,
And tortured 'neath the driver's lash,
His sweat fell fast along the plains,
Deep dyed from many a fearful gash:
But I in bonds remembered him,
And strove to free each fettered limb,
As with my tears I washed his blood,
Me he baptized with mercy's flood.
[Pg 172]I saw him in the negro pew,
His head hung low upon his breast,
His locks were wet with drops of dew,
Gathered while he for entrance pressed
Within those aisles, whose courts are given
That black and white may reach one heaven;
And as I meekly sought his feet,
He smiled, and made a throne my seat.
In prison I saw him next condemned
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honored him midst shame and scorn.
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for him would die;
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,
But the free spirit cried, "I will."
Then in a moment to my view,
The stranger darted from disguise;
The tokens in his hands I knew,
My Saviour stood before my eyes!
He spoke, and my poor name he named—
"Of me thou hast not been ashamed,
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto me."
A poor traveler burdened with grief,
Often crossed my path,
Who asked so humbly for help,
That I could never refuse;
I didn’t have the nerve to ask his name,
Where he was going or where he came from;
Yet there was something in his eyes,
That won my love, though I couldn’t say why.
Once, when I had a meager meal laid out,
He walked in—he didn't say a word—
Just starving for some bread,
I gave him everything I had; he blessed it and broke it,
And ate, but shared some back with me:
Mine was a heavenly feast then,
For while I fed with eager speed,
The crust tasted like manna to me.
It was night. The floods were high, the wind blew
A winter hurricane from a distance:
I heard his voice outside, and rushed
To welcome him to my house;
I warmed, clothed, and cheered my guest,
I laid him on my couch to rest:
Then I made the ground my bed and felt
Like I was in Eden's garden as I dreamed.
I saw him bleeding in his chains,
And enduring the driver's whip,
His sweat fell heavily across the fields,
Stained deeply from many painful cuts:
But while I was in chains, I remembered him,
And tried to free each bound limb,
As with my tears I washed his blood,
He baptized me in mercy’s flood.
[Pg 172]I saw him in the dark pew,
His head hung low on his chest,
His hair was wet with drops of dew,
Gathered as he requested to come in
Within those aisles, where black and white may seek
One heaven together;
And as I humbly sought his feet,
He smiled and made my seat a throne.
In prison, I next saw him condemned
To confront a traitor's destiny at dawn;
I stood against the tide of false tongues,
And respected him despite the shame and ridicule.
To test my friendship's deepest zeal,
He asked if I would die for him;
My flesh was weak, my blood ran cold,
But my free spirit cried, "I will."
Then in an instant before me,
The stranger removed his disguise;
The signs in his hands I recognized,
My Savior stood right in front of me!
He spoke, and he called me by name—
"Of me you have not been ashamed,
These acts shall be your legacy;
Fear not, you did them unto me."
WE’RE FOR FREEDOM THROUGH THE LAND.
Words by J.E. Robinson. Music arranged from the "Old Granite State."
Words by J.E. Robinson. Music arranged from the "Old Granite State."
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
We are coming, we are coming! freedom's battle is begun!
No hand shall furl her banner ere her victory be won!
Our shields are locked for liberty, and mercy goes before:
Tyrants tremble in your citadel! oppression shall be o'er.
We will vote for Birney,
We will vote for Birney,
We're for Morris and for Birney,
And for Freedom through the land.
We have hatred, dark and deep, for the fetter and the thong;
We bring light for prisoned spirits, for the captive's wail a song;
We are coming, we are coming! and, "No league with tyrant man,"
Is emblazoned on our banner, while Jehovah leads the van!
We will vote for Birney,
We will vote for Birney,
We're for Morris and for Birney,
And for Freedom through the land!
We are coming, we are coming! but we wield no battle brand:
We are armed with truth and justice, with God's charter in our hand,
And our voice which swells for freedom—freedom now and ever more—
Shall be heard as ocean's thunder, when they burst upon the shore!
We will vote for Birney,
We will vote for Birney,
We're for Morris and for Birney,
And for Freedom through the land.
[Pg 176]Be patient, O, be patient! ye suffering ones of earth!
Denied a glorious heritage—our common right by birth;
With fettered limbs and spirits, your battle shall be won!
O be patient—we are coming! suffer on, suffer on!
We will vote for Birney,
We will vote for Birney,
We're for Morris and for Birney,
And for Freedom through the land.
We are coming, we are coming! not as comes the tempest's wrath,
When the frown of desolation sits brooding o'er its path;
But with mercy, such as leaves his holy signet-light upon
The air in lambent beauty, when the darkened storm is gone.
We will vote for Birney,
We will vote for Birney,
We're for Morris and for Birney,
And for Freedom through the land.
O, be patient in your misery! be mute in your despair!
While your chains are grinding deeper, there's a voice upon the air!
Ye shall feel its potent echoes, ye shall hear its lovely sound,
We are coming! we are coming! bringing freedom to the bound!
We will vote for Birney,
We will vote for Birney,
We're for Morris and for Birney,
And for Freedom through the land.
We're on our way, we're on our way! The fight for freedom has begun!
No one will lower her banner until victory is achieved!
Our shields are united for liberty, and mercy leads the way:
Tyrants, tremble in your stronghold! Oppression will be no more.
We're voting for Birney,
We're voting for Birney,
We're supporting Morris and Birney,
And for freedom throughout the country.
We hold a deep and dark hatred for the chains and the whip;
We bring light to imprisoned spirits, a song for the captive's cry;
We're on our way, we're on our way! And, "No alliance with tyrants,"
Is boldly displayed on our banner, while God leads the charge!
We're voting for Birney,
We're voting for Birney,
We support Morris and Birney,
And for Freedom across the land!
We're on our way, we're on our way! But we're not armed with weapons:
We carry truth and justice, with God's charter in our hands,
And our voices rising for freedom—freedom now and forever—
Shall be heard like thunder as it crashes upon the shore!
We will vote for Birney.
We'll vote for Birney,
We're supporting Morris and Birney,
And for freedom across the land.
[Pg 176]Be patient, oh, be patient! you suffering ones of the earth!
Denied a glorious heritage—your common right by birth;
With bound limbs and spirits, your battle will be won!
Oh be patient—we're on our way! Endure, endure!
We're voting for Birney,
We will vote for Birney.
We're supporting Morris and Birney,
And for freedom across the country.
We're on our way, we're on our way! Not like a raging storm,
When the gloom of destruction hangs heavy in its path;
But with mercy, like a holy light that leaves its radiant mark upon
The air in gentle beauty, when the dark storm has passed.
We're voting for Birney,
We're voting for Birney,
We support Morris and Birney,
And for freedom throughout the land.
Oh, be patient in your suffering! Stay quiet in your despair!
While your chains tighten, there's a voice in the air!
You will feel its powerful echoes, you will hear its beautiful sound,
We're on our way! We're on our way! Bringing freedom to the bound!
We will vote for Birney.
We're voting for Birney.
We're supporting Morris and Birney,
And for freedom across the country.
Note.—Suggested by a song sung by George W. Clark, at a recent convention in Rochester, N.Y.
Note.—Inspired by a song performed by George W. Clark at a recent convention in Rochester, NY.
WE ARE ALL CHILDREN OF ONE PARENT.
Words from the Youth's Cabinet. Music by L. Mason.
Words from the Youth's Cabinet. Music by L. Mason.
[__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__] [__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_2__]
Sister, thou art worn and weary,
Toiling for another's gain;
Life with thee is dark and dreary,
Filled with wretchedness and pain,
Thou must rise at dawn of light,
And thy daily task pursue,
Till the darkness of the night
Hide thy labors from thy view.
Oft, alas! thou hast to bear
Sufferings more than tongue can tell;
Thy oppressor will not spare,
But delights thy griefs to swell;
Oft thy back the scourge has felt,
Then to God thou'st raised the cry
That the tyrant's heart he'd melt
Ere thou should'st in tortures die.
Injured sister, well we know
That thy lot in life is hard;
Sad thy state of toil and wo,
From all blessedness debarred;
While each sympathizing heart
Pities thy forlorn distress;
We would sweet relief impart,
And delight thy soul to bless.
And what lies within our power
We most cheerfully will do,
That will haste the blissful hour
Fraught with news of joy to you;
And when comes the happy day
That shall free our captive friend,
When Jehovah's mighty sway
Shall to slavery put an end:
Then, dear sister, we with thee
Will to heaven direct our voice;
Joyfully with voices free
We'll in lofty strains rejoice;
Gracious God! thy name we'll bless,
Hallelujah evermore,
Thou hast heard in righteousness,
And our sister's griefs are o'er.
Sister, you are tired and worn out,
Putting in effort for someone else's gain;
Life for you is dark and gloomy,
Filled with pain and suffering.
You must get up at the break of dawn,
And tackle your daily to-dos,
Until the darkness of the night
Conceals your efforts from your view.
Often, sadly, you have to endure
More pain than words can describe;
Your oppressor shows no mercy,
But enjoys your distress;
Often, your back has felt the whip,
Then you've cried out to God.
That He would soften the tyrant's heart
Before you give in to your pain.
Injured sister, we know very well
Your life is really tough;
Your situation is sad and full of strife,
Deprived of all joy;
While every sympathetic heart
Sympathizes with your desperate situation;
We want to bring you sweet relief,
And raise your spirit to joy.
And whatever we can do
We will happily take on,
To hurry the joyful moment
I have great news for you;
And when that happy day arrives
That sets our captive friend free,
When God’s mighty hand
Ends slavery:
Then, dear sister, we will
Raise our voices to heaven;
Joyfully with voices liberated
We’ll celebrate with joyful songs;
Gracious God! we’ll bless your name,
Hallelujah forever,
You have heard us in your righteousness,
Our sister's suffering has ended.
Manhood.
BY ROBERT BURNS.
BY ROBERT BURNS.
Tune, "Our Warrior's Hearts," page 128.
Tune, "Our Warrior's Hearts," __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.
Is there, for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a' that;
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor, for a' that;
For a' that and a' that;
Our toils obscure, and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd, for a' that.
What though on homely fare we dine,
Wear hodden gray and a' that,
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that;
The honest man tho' e'er so poor,
Is king o' men for a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will, for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
It's coming yet, for a' that,
That man to man, the world all o'er
Shall brothers be, for a' that.
Is there honest poverty,
That keeps him focused and all that;
The cowardly slave, we ignore him,
We're courageous enough to be poor, despite everything;
For all that and all that;
Our struggles are concealed, and all that,
Rank is just a stamp on a coin,
The real value lies in the person, after all.
What if we dine on simple food,
Wear modest clothes and all that,
Let fools wear their silks and crooks enjoy their wine,
A person is still a person despite everything.
An honest man, no matter how poor,
Is the king of men despite everything;
Rank is just a stamp on a coin,
The real value is the person behind it all.
So let’s hope that it will come,
As it definitely will, for all of that,
That sense and worth, across the earth,
May hold the highest position, and all that;
For all that, and all that,
It's still coming, despite everything.
That person to person, the world all around
We'll be brothers, despite everything.
Terms explained:—Gowd—gold.
Hodden—homespun, or mean.
Gree—honor, or victory.
Terms explained:—Gowd—gold.
Hodden—homespun or low-quality.
Gree—respect, or victory.
The Poor Voter’s Song.
Air, "Lucy Long."
Air, "Lucy Long."
They knew that I was poor,
And they thought that I was base;
They thought that I'd endure
To be covered with disgrace;
They thought me of their tribe,
Who on filthy lucre doat,
So they offered me a bribe
For my vote, boys! my vote!
[Pg 179]O shame upon my betters,
Who would my conscience buy!
But I'll not wear their fetters,
Not I, indeed, not I!
My vote? It is not mine
To do with as I will;
To cast, like pearls, to swine,
To these wallowers in ill.
It is my country's due,
And I'll give it, while I can,
To the honest and the true,
Like a man, like a man!
O shame, &c.
No, no, I'll hold my vote,
As a treasure and a trust,
My dishonor none shall quote,
When I'm mingled with the dust;
And my children when I'm gone,
Shall be strengthened by the thought,
That their father was not one
To be bought, to be bought!
O shame, &c.
They knew I was poor,
And they thought I was worthless;
They believed I would accept
Being shamed;
They saw me as one of their kind,
Who are obsessed with dirty money,
So they offered me a bribe
For my vote, everyone! My vote!
[Pg 179]Oh shame on my superiors,
Who would attempt to buy my conscience!
But I won’t wear their chains,
Not me, for sure!
My vote? It’s not mine
To do whatever I want;
To throw away like pearls,
To these miserable creatures.
It belongs to my country,
And I’ll give it as long as I can,
To the honest and the true,
Just like a man, just like a man!
Oh no, etc.
No, no, I’ll hold my vote,
As a valuable asset and a responsibility,
No one will speak of my dishonor,
When I'm turned to dust;
And my children when I’m gone,
Will be reinforced by the thought,
That their father was not someone
To be purchased, to be purchased!
Oh no, etc.
The Flying Slave.
FROM THE BANGOR GAZETTE.
FROM THE BANGOR GAZETTE.
AIR:—"To Greece we give our shining blades."
AIR:—"We offer our shining blades to Greece."
The night is dark, and keen the air,
And the Slave is flying to be free;
His parting word is one short prayer:
Oh God, but give me Liberty!
Farewell—farewell:
Behind I leave the whips and chains,
Before me spreads sweet Freedom's plains.
One star shines in the heavens above
That guides him on his lonely way;—
Star of the North—how deep his love
For thee, thou star of Liberty!
Farewell—farewell:
Behind he leaves the whips and chains,
Before him spreads sweet Freedom's plains.
The night is dark, and the air is sharp,
And the Slave is rushing to be free;
His last words are a quick prayer:
Oh God, just give me Liberty!
Goodbye—goodbye:
Behind me are the whips and chains,
Ahead lies the beautiful plains of Freedom.
One star shines in the sky above
That guides him on his lonely path;—
Star of the North—how deep his love
For you, you star of Liberty!
Goodbye—goodbye:
Behind he leaves the whips and chains,
Ahead of him spread the beautiful plains of Freedom.
For the Election.
TUNE:—'Scots wha hae with Wallace bled.'
TUNE:—'Scots who have bled with Wallace.'
Ye who know and do the right,
Ye who cherish honor bright,
Ye who worship love and light,
Choose your side to-day.
Succor Freedom, now you can,
Voting for an honest man;
Or you may from Slavery's span,
Pick a Polk or Clay.
Boasts your vote no higher aim,
Than between two blots of shame
That would stain our country's fame,
Just to choose the least?
Let it sternly answer no!
Let it straight for Freedom go;
Let it swell the winds that blow
From the north and east.
Blot!—the smaller—is a curse
Blighting conscience, honor, purse;
Give us any, give the worse,
'Twill be less endured.
Freemen, is it God who wills
You to choose, of foulest ills,
That which only latest kills?
No; he wills it cured.
Do your duty, He will aid;
Dare to vote as you have prayed;
Who e'er conquered, while his blade
Served his open foes.
Right established, would you see?
Feel that you yourselves are free;
Strike for that which ought to be—
God will bless the blows.
You who know and do what's right,
You who value bright honor,
You who worship love and light,
Pick your side today.
Support Freedom, now you can,
Vote for an honest man;
Or you may from the grip of Slavery,
Choose Polk or Clay.
Does your vote aim any higher,
Than choosing between two sources of shame
That would tarnish our country's reputation,
Just to choose the lesser?
Let it firmly answer no!
Let it aim straight for Freedom;
Let it support the winds that blow
From the north and east.
A stain!—the smaller—is a curse
Wrecking conscience, honor, wallet;
Give us any, give the worse,
It will be less accepted.
Free people, is it God’s will
For you to choose, among the worst evils,
What only kills in the end?
No; He wants it repaired.
Do your duty, He will help;
Dare to vote as you have prayed;
Who ever conquered while his sword
Fought against his open enemies?
Want to see what's right established?
Feel that you yourselves are free;
Fight for what ought to be—
God will bless your work.
Hail the Day!
AIR:—"Wreathe the bowl."
AIR:—"Decorate the bowl."
Hail the day
Whose joyful ray
Speaks of emancipation!
The day that broke
Oppression's yoke—
The birth-day of a nation!
When England's might
Put forth for right,
Achieved a fame more glorious
Than armies tried,
Or navies' pride,
O'er land and sea victorious!
Soon may we gain
An equal name
In honor's estimation!
And righteousness
Exalt and bless
Our glorious happy nation!
Brave hearts shall lend
Strong hands to rend
Foul slavery's bonds asunder,
And liberty
Her jubilee
Proclaim, in tones of thunder!
We hail afar
Fair freedom's star,
Her day-star brightly glancing;
We hear the tramp
From freedom's camp,
Assembling and advancing!
No noisy drum
Nor murderous gun,
No deadly fiends contending;
But love and right
Their force unite,
In peaceful conflict blending.
Fair freedom's host,
In joyful boast,
Unfolds her banner ample!
With Channing's fame,
And Whittier's name,
And Birney's bright example!
Come join your hands
With freedom's bands,
New England's sons and daughters!
Speak your decree—
Man shall be free—
As mountains, winds and waters!
And haste the day
Whose coming ray
Speaks our emancipation!
Whose glorious light,
Enthroning right,
Shall bless and save the nation!
Cheers to today
Whose joyful glow
Speaks of freedom!
The day that changed everything
Chains of oppression—
The birthday of a nation!
When England's strength
Stood up for what's right,
Achieved a fame more glorious
Than armies battled,
Or navy's pride,
Across land and sea victorious!
Soon we may earn
A fair name
In the eyes of honor!
And justice for all
Lift and bless
Our glorious happy nation!
Brave hearts will help
Strong hands to break through
The chains of slavery apart,
And freedom
Her party
Proclaim, in booming tones!
We celebrate from a distance
Fair freedom's star,
Her dawn bright and shining;
We hear the parade
From freedom's camp,
Gathering and moving forward!
No loud drums allowed
No deadly guns,
No vicious enemies fighting;
But love and justice
Join their strength,
In peaceful conflict blending.
Fair freedom's army,
In happy pride,
Unfolds her wide banner!
With Channing's popularity,
And Whittier's name,
And Birney's shining example!
Join hands
With freedom organizations,
New England's sons and daughters!
State your command—
Everyone should be free—
Like mountains, winds, and waters!
And speed up the day
Whose upcoming event
Speaks our freedom!
Whose glorious glow,
Defending what's right,
Shall bless and save the nation!
(From the Globe.)
(From the Globe.)
The Ballot.
BY J.E. DOW.
BY J.E. DOW.
Air, "Bonnie Doon," page 54.
Air, "Bonnie Doon," __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.
Dread sovereign, thou! the chainless will—
Thy source the nation's mighty heart—
The ballot box thy cradle still—
Thou speak'st, and nineteen millions start;
Thy subjects, sons of noble sires;
Descendants of a patriot band—
Thy lights a million's household fires—
Thy daily walk, my native land.
And shall the safeguard of the free,
By valor won on gory plains,
Become a solemn mockery
While freemen breathe and virtue reigns?
Shall liberty be bought and sold
By guilty creatures clothed with power?
Is honor but a name for gold,
And principle a withered flower?
The parricide's accursed steel
Has pierced thy sacred sovereignty;
And all who think, and all who feel,
Must act or never more be free.
No party chains shall bind us here;
No mighty name shall turn the blow:
Then, wounded sovereignty, appear,
And lay the base apostates low.
The wretch, with hands by murder red,
May hope for mercy at the last;
And he who steals a nation's bread,
May have oblivion's statute passed.
But he who steals a sacred right,
And brings his native land to scorn,
Shall die a traitor in her sight,
With none to pity or to mourn.
Dread sovereign, you! the free will—
Your source, the nation's strong core—
The ballot box your cradle still—
You speak, and nineteen million reply;
Your subjects, sons of noble fathers;
Descendants of a patriot group—
Your light a million homes—
Your daily presence, my homeland.
And shall the protection of the free,
Gained through courage on bloody battlefields,
Become a solemn joke
While free people are alive and virtue prevails?
Shall liberty be bought and sold
By guilty individuals in positions of power?
Is respect just a name for gold,
And principle a dying flower?
The parricide's cursed blade
Has violated your sacred sovereignty;
And all who think, and all who feel,
You must take action or you will never be free again.
No party chains shall bind us here;
No strong name will affect the impact:
Then, wounded sovereignty, arise,
And take down the traitors.
The wretch, with hands stained by murder,
May we hope for mercy in the end;
And he who steals a nation's food,
The law of forgetfulness may have been enacted.
But he who steals a sacred right,
And brings shame to his homeland,
Shall die a traitor in her eyes,
With no one to feel sorry for him or grieve.
The Spirit of the Pilgrims.
Tune, "Be free, Oh man, be free," page 134.
Tune, "__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__," __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_1__.
The spirit of the Pilgrims
Is spreading o'er the earth,
And millions now point to the land
Where Freedom had her birth:
[Pg 182]Hark! Hear ye not the earnest cry
That peals o'er every wave?
"God above,
In thy love,
O liberate the slave!"
Ye heard of trampled Poland,
And of her sons in chains,
And noble thoughts flashed through your minds
And fire flowed through your veins.
Then wherefore hear ye not the cry
That breaks o'er land and sea?—
"On each plain,
Rend the chain,
And set the captive free!"
Oh, think ye that our fathers,
(That noble patriot band,)
Could now look down with kindling joy,
And smile upon the land?
Or would a trumpet-tone go forth,
And ring from shore to shore;—
"All who stand,
In this land,
Shall be free for evermore!"
Great God, inspire thy children,
And make thy creatures just,
That every galling chain may fall,
And crumble into dust:
That not one soul throughout the land
Our fathers died to save,
May again,
By fellow-men,
Be branded as a Slave!
The spirit of the Pilgrims
Is spreading around the world,
And millions now point to the land
Where freedom originated:
[Pg 182]Listen! Don’t you hear the urgent cry
Does that resonate across every wave?
"God above,"
In your love,
"Please free the slave!"
You heard about oppressed Poland,
And of her sons in chains,
And noble thoughts surged through your minds
And adrenaline surged through your veins.
Then why do you not hear the cry
That breaks over land and sea?—
"Everywhere,"
Break the chains.
"And set the captive free!"
Oh, do you think our fathers,
(That noble group of patriots,)
Could now look down with kindling joy,
And smile at the land?
Or would a trumpet call ring out,
And the sound echoes from one shore to the other;—
"Everyone who stands,"
In this place,
"Will be free forever!"
Great God, inspire your children,
And make your creatures fair,
That every painful chain may fall,
And fall apart:
That not one soul throughout the land
Our dads died to save,
May once more,
By other people,
Be labeled as a slave!
What Mean Ye?
Tune—'Ortonville.'
Track—'Ortonville'.
What mean ye that ye bruise and bind
My people, saith the Lord,
And starve your craving brother's mind,
Who asks to hear my word?
What mean ye that ye make them toil;
Through long and dreary years,
And shed like rain upon your soil
Their blood and bitter tears?
[Pg 183]What mean ye, that ye dare to rend
The tender mother's heart?
Brothers from sisters, friend from friend,
How dare you bid them part?
What mean ye when God's bounteous hand,
To you so much has given,
That from the slave who tills your land,
Ye keep both earth and heaven?
When at the judgment God shall call,
Where is thy brother? say,
What mean ye to the Judge of all
To answer on that day?
What do you mean when you hurt and control
My people, says God,
And starve your needy brother's mind,
Who wants to listen to what I have to say?
What do you mean when you make them work;
Through dark and tough times,
And pour like rain upon your land
Their blood and painful tears?
[Pg 183]What do you mean, that you dare to tear apart
The caring mother's heart?
Brothers from sisters, friends from friends,
How dare you include them?
What do you mean when God's generous hand,
Has given you so much,
That from the slave who works your land,
Are you taking both earth and heaven?
When at the judgment God shall ask,
Where's your brother?
What will you say to the Judge of all
That day?
Hymn for Children.
AIR:—"Miss Lucy Long."
AIR:—"Miss Lucy Long."
BY W.S. ABBOTT.
BY W.S. ABBOTT.
While we are happy here,
In joy and peace and love,
We'll raise our hearts, with holy fear,
To thee, great God, above.
God of our infant hours!
The music of our tongues,
The worship of our nobler powers,
To thee, to thee belongs.
The little, trembling slave
Shall feel our sympathy;
O God! arise with might to save,
And set the captive free.
No parent's holy care
Provides for him repose,
But oft the hot and briny tear,
In sorrow freely flows.
The God of Abraham praise;
The curse he will remove;
The slave shall welcome happy days,
With liberty and love.
Pray without ceasing, pray,
Ye saints of God Most High,
That all who hail this glorious day,
May have their liberty.
While we’re happy here,
In joy, peace, and love,
We’ll lift our hearts, with reverence,
To you, great God above.
God of our early days!
Our voices' sound,
The worship from our better selves,
It's all yours.
The small, trembling slave
Will feel our empathy;
O God! rise in power to save,
And set the prisoner free.
No caring parent’s watch
Brings him any comfort,
But often the hot, salty tear,
Flows freely in sadness.
Praise the God of Abraham;
He's going to lift the curse;
The slave will embrace joyful days,
With liberty and love.
Pray without end, pray,
You holy ones of God Most High,
That all who celebrate this glorious day,
May find their freedom.
Liberty Glee.
TUNE:—"The Pirate's Glee."
TUNE:—"The Pirate's Glee."
March on! march on! we love the Liberty flag,
That's waving o'er our land;
As fearless as the eagle soaring
O'er the cloud-capped mountain crag,
Slavery in terror flies before us;
We fling our banner to the blast;
It there shall float triumphant o'er us,
We will defend it to the last.
March on! march on, &c.
Vote on! vote on, we hail the Liberty flag,
That leads us on our way;
We'll boldly vote, our country saving,
And bravely conquer while we may.
The world is up—for freedom moving,
The thunders' distant roar we hear—
From land to land the free are calling,
And slaves with joy and rapture hear.
Vote on! vote on, &c.
Keep marching on! Keep marching on! We cherish the Liberty flag,
That's waving over our land;
As fearless as the eagle soaring
Over the mountain peak,
Slavery in fear retreats before us;
We lift our flag to the wind;
It will float triumphantly above us,
We will fight for it until the very end.
Keep moving forward! Keep moving forward, __A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__.
Vote now! Vote now, we salute the Liberty flag,
That directs us on our journey;
We'll vote with courage, protecting our country,
And let’s succeed courageously while we can.
The world is rising up—for freedom,
We can hear the far-off rumble of thunder—
From land to land, the free are calling,
And slaves listen with joy and pleasure.
Vote now! Vote now, etc.
March on! March on!
TUNE:—"The Pirate's Glee."
TUNE:—"The Pirate's Glee."
March on! march on, ye friends of freedom for all,
For truth and right contend;
Be ever ready at humanity's call,
Till tyrant's power shall end.
The proud slave-holders rule the nation,
The people's groans are loud and long;
Arouse, ye men, in every station,
And join to crush the power of wrong.—March on, etc.
Fight on! fight on, ye brave till victory's won,
And justice shall prevail;
Till all shall feel the rays of liberty's sun,
Streaming o'er hill and dale.
The tyrants know their guilt and tremble,
The glowing light of truth they fear;
Then let them all their hosts assemble,
And Slavery's dreadful sentence hear.
Fight on! fight on, &c.
Roll on! roll on, ye brave, the liberty car,
Our country's name to save;
Soon shall our land be known to nations afar,
As the home of the free and brave.
The voice of freemen loud hath spoken,
A brighter day we soon shall see;
When Slavery's chains shall all be broken,
And all the captive millions free.
Roll on, roll on, &c.
Keep moving forward, friends of freedom for everyone,
Fight for truth and justice;
Always be ready when humanity calls,
Until the tyrant's power is eliminated.
The proud slaveholders control the nation,
The people's cries are strong and persistent;
Rise up, men, at every level,
Join the fight against injustice. Keep pushing forward, etc.
Keep fighting! keep fighting, brave ones, until victory is ours,
And justice will prevail;
Until everyone feels the rays of liberty’s sun,
Streaming through hills and valleys.
The tyrants know their guilt and tremble,
They are afraid of the bright light of truth;
Let them gather all their forces,
And hear the terrible verdict of slavery.
Keep pushing! keep pushing, &c.
Keep rolling! keep rolling, brave ones, in the liberty vehicle,
To preserve our nation's identity;
Soon our land will be known to distant nations,
As the home of the free and courageous.
The voice of the free has spoken loudly,
A better day is on the way;
When the chains of Slavery are all shattered,
And all the millions who were held captive are now free.
Keep going, keep going, etc.
INDEX.
Transcriber's Note: The original order of the entries in this index has been preserved.
Transcriber's Note: The original order of the entries in this index has been kept.
FOOTNOTES
[1] An African prince having arrived in England, and having been asked what he had given for his watch, answered, "What I will never give again—I gave a fine boy for it."
[1] An African prince arrived in England and, when asked what he had paid for his watch, replied, "Something I’ll never pay again—I gave a fine boy for it."
[2] This song is said to be sung by Slaves, as they are chained in gangs, when parting from friends for the far off South—children taken from parents, husbands from wives, and brothers from sisters.
[2] This song is said to be sung by slaves, as they are chained together in groups, when they say goodbye to friends for the distant South—children taken from their parents, husbands from their wives, and brothers from their sisters.
[3] Clay's body servant.
__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__ Clay's personal assistant.
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