ODE
Sung at the celebration of the First Anniversary of the kidnapping, at Boston, of Thomas Sims, a fugitive slave:—the kidnapping done under the forms of law, and by its officers, 12 June, 1851. The deedcelebratedat the Melodeon, Boston, 12 June, 1852.
BY REV. JOHN PIERPONT.
BY REV. JOHN PIERPONT.
BY REV. JOHN PIERPONT.
Souls of the patriot dead,On Bunker’s height who bled!The pile, that standsOn your long-buried bones,—Those monumental stones,—Should not suppress the groans,This day demands.For Freedom there ye stood;There gave the earth your blood;There found your graves;That men of every clime,Faith, colour, tongue, and time,Might, through your death sublime,Never be slaves.Over your bed, so low,Heard ye not, long ago,A voice of power[15]Proclaim to earth and sea,That where ye sleep, should beA home for Liberty,Till Time’s last hour?Hear ye the chains of slaves,Now clanking round your graves?Hear ye the soundOf that same voice, that callsFrom out our Senate halls,[16]“Hunt down those fleeing thralls,With horse and hound!”That voice your sons hath swayed!’Tis heard, and is obeyed!This gloomy dayTells you of ermine stained,Of Justice’ name profaned,Of a poor bondman, chainedAnd borne away!Over Virginia’s Springs,Her eagles spread their wings,Her Blue Ridge towers:—That voice,[17]—once heard with awe,—Now asks,—“Who ever saw,Up there, a higher lawThan this of ours?”Mustweobey that voice?When God, or man’s the choice,Must we postponeHim, who from Sinai spoke?Must we wear slavery’s yoke?Bear of her lash the stroke,And prop her throne?Lashed with her hounds, must weRun down the poor, who fleeFrom Slavery’s hell?Great God! when wedothis,Exclude us from thy bliss;At us let angels hiss,From heaven that fell!
Souls of the patriot dead,On Bunker’s height who bled!The pile, that standsOn your long-buried bones,—Those monumental stones,—Should not suppress the groans,This day demands.For Freedom there ye stood;There gave the earth your blood;There found your graves;That men of every clime,Faith, colour, tongue, and time,Might, through your death sublime,Never be slaves.Over your bed, so low,Heard ye not, long ago,A voice of power[15]Proclaim to earth and sea,That where ye sleep, should beA home for Liberty,Till Time’s last hour?Hear ye the chains of slaves,Now clanking round your graves?Hear ye the soundOf that same voice, that callsFrom out our Senate halls,[16]“Hunt down those fleeing thralls,With horse and hound!”That voice your sons hath swayed!’Tis heard, and is obeyed!This gloomy dayTells you of ermine stained,Of Justice’ name profaned,Of a poor bondman, chainedAnd borne away!Over Virginia’s Springs,Her eagles spread their wings,Her Blue Ridge towers:—That voice,[17]—once heard with awe,—Now asks,—“Who ever saw,Up there, a higher lawThan this of ours?”Mustweobey that voice?When God, or man’s the choice,Must we postponeHim, who from Sinai spoke?Must we wear slavery’s yoke?Bear of her lash the stroke,And prop her throne?Lashed with her hounds, must weRun down the poor, who fleeFrom Slavery’s hell?Great God! when wedothis,Exclude us from thy bliss;At us let angels hiss,From heaven that fell!
Souls of the patriot dead,On Bunker’s height who bled!The pile, that standsOn your long-buried bones,—Those monumental stones,—Should not suppress the groans,This day demands.
Souls of the patriot dead,
On Bunker’s height who bled!
The pile, that stands
On your long-buried bones,—
Those monumental stones,—
Should not suppress the groans,
This day demands.
For Freedom there ye stood;There gave the earth your blood;There found your graves;That men of every clime,Faith, colour, tongue, and time,Might, through your death sublime,Never be slaves.
For Freedom there ye stood;
There gave the earth your blood;
There found your graves;
That men of every clime,
Faith, colour, tongue, and time,
Might, through your death sublime,
Never be slaves.
Over your bed, so low,Heard ye not, long ago,A voice of power[15]Proclaim to earth and sea,That where ye sleep, should beA home for Liberty,Till Time’s last hour?
Over your bed, so low,
Heard ye not, long ago,
A voice of power[15]
Proclaim to earth and sea,
That where ye sleep, should be
A home for Liberty,
Till Time’s last hour?
Hear ye the chains of slaves,Now clanking round your graves?Hear ye the soundOf that same voice, that callsFrom out our Senate halls,[16]“Hunt down those fleeing thralls,With horse and hound!”
Hear ye the chains of slaves,
Now clanking round your graves?
Hear ye the sound
Of that same voice, that calls
From out our Senate halls,[16]
“Hunt down those fleeing thralls,
With horse and hound!”
That voice your sons hath swayed!’Tis heard, and is obeyed!This gloomy dayTells you of ermine stained,Of Justice’ name profaned,Of a poor bondman, chainedAnd borne away!
That voice your sons hath swayed!
’Tis heard, and is obeyed!
This gloomy day
Tells you of ermine stained,
Of Justice’ name profaned,
Of a poor bondman, chained
And borne away!
Over Virginia’s Springs,Her eagles spread their wings,Her Blue Ridge towers:—That voice,[17]—once heard with awe,—Now asks,—“Who ever saw,Up there, a higher lawThan this of ours?”
Over Virginia’s Springs,
Her eagles spread their wings,
Her Blue Ridge towers:—
That voice,[17]—once heard with awe,—
Now asks,—“Who ever saw,
Up there, a higher law
Than this of ours?”
Mustweobey that voice?When God, or man’s the choice,Must we postponeHim, who from Sinai spoke?Must we wear slavery’s yoke?Bear of her lash the stroke,And prop her throne?
Mustweobey that voice?
When God, or man’s the choice,
Must we postpone
Him, who from Sinai spoke?
Must we wear slavery’s yoke?
Bear of her lash the stroke,
And prop her throne?
Lashed with her hounds, must weRun down the poor, who fleeFrom Slavery’s hell?Great God! when wedothis,Exclude us from thy bliss;At us let angels hiss,From heaven that fell!
Lashed with her hounds, must we
Run down the poor, who flee
From Slavery’s hell?
Great God! when wedothis,
Exclude us from thy bliss;
At us let angels hiss,
From heaven that fell!
J. Pierpoint