“ Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy!
YE SONS OF FREEMEN. AIR—Marseilles Hymn.
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. ”

“ Who scorn the neck to bow
To Slavery's power?
Sons of the Free! we call
On you, in field and hall,
To rise as one;
Your heaven-born rights maintain,
Nor let Oppression's chain
On human limbs remain;—
Speak! and 't is done.
THE SLAVE'S LAMENTATION. AIR—Long, long ago.
Where are the friends that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago—long ago!
Where are the hopes that my heart used to cheer?
Long, long ago—long ago!
I am degraded, for man was my foe,
Friends that I loved in the grave are laid low,
All hope of freedom hath fled from me now,
Long, long ago—long, long ago! ”

“ Still redder your cheeks should be mantled with shame,
Till the spirit of freedom shall cancel the guilt.
But the brand of the slave is the tint of his skin,
Though his heart may beat loyal and true underneath;
While the soul of the tyrant is rotten within,
And his white the mere cloak to the blackness of death.
Are ye deaf to the plaints that each moment arise?
Is it thus ye forget the mild precepts of Penn,—
Unheeding the clamor that "maddens the skies,"
As ye trample the rights of your dark fellow-men? ”

“ 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 ”

“ Shall the sons of those sires that once spurned the chain,
Turn bloodhounds to hunt and make captive again?
O, shame to your honor, and shame to your pride,
And shame on your memory ever abide!
Will not your old sires start up from the ground,
At the crack of the whip, and bay of the hound,
And shaking their skeleton hands in your face,
Curse the germs that produced such a miscreant race?
O, rouse ye for freedom, before on your path
Heaven pours without mixture the vials of wrath!
Loose every hard burden—break off every chain—
Restore to the bondman his freedom again. ”

“ 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! ”

“ Oppression's bloody band;
Come on, come on, and joined be we
To make the fettered bondman free.
Let coward vassals sneak
From freedom's battle still,
Poltroons that dare not speak
But as their priests may will;
Come on, come on, and joined be we
To make the fettered bondman free.
On parchment, scroll and creed,
With human life blood red,
Untrembling at the deed,
Plant firm your manly tread;
The priest may howl, the jurist rave,
But we will free the fettered slave.
The tyrant's scorn is vain,
In vain the slanderer's breath,
We'll rush to break the chain,
E'en on the jaws of death ”

“ 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. ”

“ And hope for the woe-stricken still may remain;
The fast-flagging steeds are all white with their foam,
The bloodhounds have turned from the chase to their home.
Joy! joy to the wronged one! the haven he gains,
Escaped from his thraldom, and freed from his chains!
The heaven-stamped image—the God-given soul—
No more shall the spoiler at pleasure control.
O, shame to Columbia, that on her bright plains,
Man pines in his fetters, and curses his chains!
Shame! shame! that her star-spangled banner should wave
Where the lash is made red in the blood of the slave. ”

“ May a free northern soil soon give freedom to all,
Who shall breathe in its pure mountain air.
O, God speed, &c.
THE SWEETS OF LIBERTY. AIR—Is there a heart, &c.
Is there a man that never sighed
To set the prisoner free?
Is there a man that never prized
The sweets of liberty?
Then let him, let him breathe unseen,
Or in a dungeon live;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.
Is there a heart so cold in man,
Can galling fetters crave?
Is there a wretch so truly low,
Can stoop to be a slave? ”

“ 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.
THE FLYING SLAVE. Air—To Greece we give our shining blades.
The night is dark, and keen the air,
And the Slave is flying to be free ”

“ 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. ”

“ As horse after horse swells the thundering crowd.
Speed, speed, to thy footsteps! thy track has been found;
Now, sport for the rider, and blood for the hound!
Through brake and through forest the man-prey is driven;
O, help for the hopeless, thou merciful Heaven!
On! on to the mountain! ”

“ This, this is Freedom's day—Oppression flee away!
'T is then we'll sing, and offerings bring,
When freedom wins the day.
THERE'S A GOOD TIME COMING. There's a good time coming boys,
A good time coming ”

“ O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful,
O that will be joyful, 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. ”