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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!
ARE YE TRULY FREE?
Words by J.R. Lowell. Air, "Martyn."
[Music]
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?
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.
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!
LIBERTY BATTLE-SONG.
From "The Emancipator." Air—"Our Warrior's Heart."
[Music]
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!
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!
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.
THE BALLOT-BOX.
Air—from "Lincoln."
[Music]
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.
Christian Mother.
BY MISS 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.
THE LIBERTY PARTY.
Words by E. Wright, jr. Tune—"'Tis Dawn, the Lark is Singing."
[Music]
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.
BE FREE, O MAN, BE FREE.
Words by Mary H. Maxwell. Music by G.W.C.
[Music]
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.
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."
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!
THE LAST NIGHT OF SLAVERY.
Tune—"Cherokee Death-song."
[Music]
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.
THE LITTLE SLAVE GIRL.
Words by a Lady. Air—Morgiana in Ireland.
[Music]
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!
STOLEN WE WERE.
Words by a Colored Man.
[Music]
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!
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.
A VISION.[4]
Words by Crary. Music by G.W.C.
[Footnote 4: Scene in the nether world—purporting to be a conversation between the departed ghost of a Southern slaveholding clergyman, and the devil!]
[Music]
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."
GET OFF THE TRACK.
Words by Jesse Hutchinson. Air, "Dan Tucker."
[Music]
Ho! the car Emancipation Rides majestic thro' our nation, Bearing on its train the story, Liberty! a nation's glory. Roll it along, roll it along, 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!
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 depots thousands greet us; All take seats with exultation, In the Car Emancipation. Huzza! Huzza!! Emancipation Soon will bless our happy nation. Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!!!
EMANCIPATION SONG.
Words from the "Bangor Gazette." Air, "Crambambule."
[Music]
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!
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!
HARBINGER OF LIBERTY.
Words by a Lady. Music by G.W.C.
[Music]
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.
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.
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.
ODE TO JAMES G. BIRNEY.
Words by Elizur Wright. Music by G.W.C.
[Music]
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!
A TRIBUTE TO DEPARTED WORTH.[5]
[Footnote 5: As sung by G.W.C. at the erection of the monument to the memory of Myron Holley, Mount Hope, Rochester. It may be sung as a Dirge.]
[Music]
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.
THE LIBERTY VOTER'S SONG.
Words by E. Wright, jr. Air, from "Niel Gow's Farewell."
[Music]
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 LIBERTY BALL.
G.W.C. Air, "Rosin the Bow."
[Music]
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.
The Trumpet of Freedom.
HARK! hark! to the TRUMPET of FREEDOM! Her rallying signal she blows: 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!
BREAK EVERY YOKE.
Tune—"O no, we never mention her."
[Music]
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.
THE YANKEE GIRL.
Words by Whittier. Music by G.W.C.
[Music]
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!
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!"
FREEDOM'S GATHERING.
Words from the Pennsylvania Freeman. Music by G.W.C.
[Music]
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.
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.
Be kind to each other.
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.
PRAISE AND PRAYER.
Words by Miss Chandler.
[Music]
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!
THE SLAVE'S LAMENTATION.
A Parody by Tucker. Air, "Long, long ago."
[Music]
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!
THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.
Montgomery and Denison. Tune, "Duane Street."
[Music]
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.
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."
WE'RE FOR FREEDOM THROUGH THE LAND.
Words by J.E. Robinson. Music arranged from the "Old Granite State."
[Music]
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.
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.
NOTE.—Suggested by a song sung by George W. Clark, at a recent convention in Rochester, N.Y.
WE ARE ALL CHILDREN OF ONE PARENT.
Words from the Youth's Cabinet. Music by L. Mason.
[Music]
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.
Manhood.
BY ROBERT BURNS.
Tune, "Our Warrior's Hearts," page 128.
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.
Terms explained:— Gowd—gold. Hodden—homespun, or mean. Gree—honor, or victory.
The Poor Voter's Song.
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! 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.
The Flying Slave.
FROM THE BANGOR GAZETTE.
AIR:—"To Greece we give our shining blades."
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.
For the Election.
TUNE:—'Scots wha hae with Wallace bled.'
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.
Hail the Day!
AIR:—"Wreathe 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!
(From the Globe.)
The Ballot.
BY J.E. DOW.
Air, "Bonnie Doon," page 54.
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.
The Spirit of the Pilgrims.
Tune, "Be free, Oh man, be free," page 134.
The spirit of the Pilgrims Is spreading o'er the earth, And millions now point to the land Where Freedom had her birth: 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!
What Mean Ye?
TUNE—'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?
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?
Hymn for Children.
AIR:—"Miss Lucy Long."
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.
Liberty 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.
March on! March on!
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.
INDEX.
[Transcriber's Note: The original order of the entries in this index has been preserved.]
PAGE
Am I not a Man and Brother? 56 Am I not a Sister? 57 Afric's Dream 20 A Beacon has been lighted 74 A vision 142 Are ye truly Free? 126 A Tribute to departed worth 152
Brothers be Brave for the pining Slave 26 Blind Slave Boy 37 Bereaved Father 10 Birney and Liberty 129 Ballot-Box 130 Be free! O man, be free! 134 Break every yoke 159 Be kind to each other 166
Comfort in affliction 44 Clarion of Freedom 80 Come join the Abolitionists 96 Comfort for the bondmen 108 Come and see the works of God 109 Christian Mother 131
Domestic Bliss 31
Emancipation Song 146
Fugitive Slave to the Christian 34 Fourth of July 88 Freedom's Gathering 164 Friend of the Friendless 103
Gone! gone, sold and gone 5 Get off the Track 144
Heard ye that Cry? 48 How long! O, how long! 33 Hark! I hear a sound of anguish 24 Hail the day! 180 Hark! a voice from Heaven 110 Holy freedom 120 Harbinger of Liberty 148 Hymn for Children 183
I would not live alway 59 I am Monarch of naught I survey 18
Liberty battle Song 128 Light of Truth 149 Liberty Glee 184
Manhood 178 My child is gone 43 March to the Battle-field 115 Myron Holly 77 March on! march on! 184
Negro Boy sold for a watch 16
O Pity the Slave Mother 32 Our Pilgrim Fathers 60 Our Countrymen in chains! 76 On to Victory 83 Our Countrymen are dying 94 O Charity! 101 Oft in the chilly night 117 Ode to James G. Birney 150
Prayer for the Slave 52 Pilgrim Song 86 Praise and Prayer 167 Poor Voter's Song 178
Quadroon Maiden 29
Remembering God is just 53 Rise! Freeman rise! 73 Rouse up, New England! 70 Remember me 73
Sleep on, my Child 49 Song of the Coffle gang 22 Slave's Wrongs 40 Stanzas for the times 63 Slave Boy's Wish 9 Slave Girl mourning her Father 12 Slave Mother and her babe 13 Strike for liberty 82 Sing me a triumph Song 91 Song of the Free 118 Stolen we were 140
The law of love 100 The fugitive 54 The poor little slave 45 The Bereaved Mother 46 The Negro's appeal 14 The Strength of tyranny 36 To those I Love 66 The Bondman 87 The man for me 84 The Mercy-Seat 102 The pleasant land we love 112 The freed Slave 114 The Liberty Flag 114 The Liberty party 132 The last night of Slavery 136 The Little Slave Girl 138 The Liberty Voter's Song 154 The Liberty Ball 156 The Trumpet of Freedom 157 The Slave's Lamentation 168 The Stranger and his Friend 170 That's my Country 127 The flying Slave 179 The Election 180 The Ballot 181 The Spirit of the Pilgrims 181 The Ballot-Box 130
Voice of New England 78
Wake sons of the Pilgrims 92 What means that sad and dismal Look 8 We're coming, We're coming 68 Wake, Sons of the Pilgrims 92 We are Come, all Come 99 We're for Freedom through the Land 173 We are all children of one Parent 167 Wake, Ye Numbers 104 What mean ye, that ye bruise and bind? 182 We ask not Martial Glory 95
Ye Heralds of Freedom 58 Ye spirits of the Free 90 Ye Sons of Freemen 121 Yankee Girl 160
Zaza 50
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