Ye spirits of the free,Can ye for ever seeYour brother manA 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 soulGod'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 crownedCreation's lord?Shall men of Christian name,Without a blush of shame,Profess their tyrant claimFrom 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 wailOf tortured slave!
Ye spirits of the free,Can ye for ever seeYour brother manA 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 soulGod'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 crownedCreation's lord?Shall men of Christian name,Without a blush of shame,Profess their tyrant claimFrom 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 wailOf tortured slave!
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 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.
Air—"M'Gregor's Gathering."
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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 gravesOf 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, 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 gravesOf 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.
Words by C.W. Dennison. Tune—"From Greenland's Icy Mountains."
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Our countrymen are dyingBeneath 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 dashesAlong its northern strand,Where Rappahannock lashesVirginia'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 watersIs 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 freedomRing out a certain peal,Let sire and youthful maiden,All who have hearts to feel,Awake! and with the blessingOf Him who came to save,A holy, peaceful triumph,Shall greet the kneeling slave!
Our countrymen are dyingBeneath 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 dashesAlong its northern strand,Where Rappahannock lashesVirginia'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 watersIs 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 freedomRing out a certain peal,Let sire and youthful maiden,All who have hearts to feel,Awake! and with the blessingOf Him who came to save,A holy, peaceful triumph,Shall greet the kneeling slave!
We ask not "martial glory,"Nor "battles bravely won;"We tell no boastful storyTo laud our "favorite son;"We do not seek to gatherFrom glory's field of blood,The laurels of the warrior,Steeped in the crimson flood—But we can boast that BirneyHolds 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 millionsBe 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 ask not "martial glory,"Nor "battles bravely won;"We tell no boastful storyTo laud our "favorite son;"We do not seek to gatherFrom glory's field of blood,The laurels of the warrior,Steeped in the crimson flood—But we can boast that BirneyHolds 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 millionsBe 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.
Air—"When I can read my title clear."
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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,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.
By G.W.C.
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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 tearRuns 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 HimWho 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 are come, all come, with the crowded throng,To join our notes in a plaintive song;For the bond man sighs, and the scalding tearRuns 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 HimWho 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.
Words by a Lady. Music by G.W.C.
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Blest is the man whose tender heartFeels all another's pain,To whom the supplicating eyeWas 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 loveHis 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 aboveDescend on those, who thus fulfilThe perfect law of love.
Blest is the man whose tender heartFeels all another's pain,To whom the supplicating eyeWas 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 loveHis 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 aboveDescend on those, who thus fulfilThe perfect law of love.
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 extendsTo 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! 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 extendsTo 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.
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 shedsThe 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 swelling tide of woes,There is a calm, a sure retreat—Our refuge is the Mercy-seat.There is a place where Jesus shedsThe 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.
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 doorInvites 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! 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 doorInvites 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.
Words by Lewis. Air, "Strike the Cymbals."
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Wake ye numbers! from your slumbersHear 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 morrowChange their aching hearts to stone:Then the light of nature's smileFreedom's realm shall bless the while;And the pleasure mercy bringsFlow 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 ye numbers! from your slumbersHear 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 morrowChange their aching hearts to stone:Then the light of nature's smileFreedom's realm shall bless the while;And the pleasure mercy bringsFlow 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.
Air—"Indian Philosopher."
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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 endureShall 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 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 endureShall 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.
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 singThe 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 voiceYe 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 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 singThe 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 voiceYe 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.
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 oppressionSoon shall find a shameful grave;Proud oppression,Soon shall find a shameful end.See, the light of truth is breakingFull 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 arousingFrom 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 dreamingO'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.
Hark! a voice from heaven proclaiming,Comfort to the mourning slave;God has heard him long complaining,And extends his arm to save;Proud oppressionSoon shall find a shameful grave;Proud oppression,Soon shall find a shameful end.See, the light of truth is breakingFull 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 arousingFrom 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 dreamingO'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.
Words by N.P. Willis. Air, Carrier Dove.
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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 boyLooks with a fearless pride.The grey old man, beneath the tree,Tales of his childhood tells;And sweetly in the hush of mornPeal out the Sabbath bells.And wearefree—but is there notOne blot upon our name?Is our proud record written fairUpon 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 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 boyLooks with a fearless pride.The grey old man, beneath the tree,Tales of his childhood tells;And sweetly in the hush of mornPeal out the Sabbath bells.And wearefree—but is there notOne blot upon our name?Is our proud record written fairUpon 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!
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 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.
ALTERED 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 shoutOur flag is the flag of the free.
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 shoutOur flag is the flag of the free.
Parody by G.W.C. Air "Oft in the stilly 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 saveWould 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 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 saveWould 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.
BY PIERPONT.
Oft in the chilly night,Ere slumber's chain has bound me,When all her silvery lightThe moon is pouring round me,Beneath its ray I kneel and prayThat God would give some tokenThat 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 mightOf 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 sunOf hope has long departed;And morning's light, and weary night,Still find me broken hearted:Thus, when the chilly breathOf night is sighing round me,Kneel I, and wish that deathIn his cold chain had bound me.
Oft in the chilly night,Ere slumber's chain has bound me,When all her silvery lightThe moon is pouring round me,Beneath its ray I kneel and prayThat God would give some tokenThat 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 mightOf 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 sunOf hope has long departed;And morning's light, and weary night,Still find me broken hearted:Thus, when the chilly breathOf night is sighing round me,Kneel I, and wish that deathIn his cold chain had bound me.
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 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.
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 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!
Words by Mrs. J.G. Carter. Air, "Marseilles Hymn."
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Ye sons of freemen wake to sadness,Hark! hark, what myriads bid you rise;Three millions of our race in madnessBreak 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 landEndure 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 strideShall 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 bewailingThe 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!
Ye sons of freemen wake to sadness,Hark! hark, what myriads bid you rise;Three millions of our race in madnessBreak 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 landEndure 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 strideShall 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 bewailingThe 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!
Words by J.R. Lowell. Air, "Martyn."
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