Chapter II: Part 2

Is this the land our fathers loved, The freedom which they toiled to win? Is this the soil whereon they moved? Are these the graves they slumber in? Are we the sons by whom are borne, The mantles which the dead have won?

And shall we crouch above these graves, With craven soul and fettered lip? Yoke in with marked and branded slaves, And tremble at the driver's whip? Bend to the earth our pliant knees, And speak--but as our masters please?

Shall outraged Nature cease to feel? Shall Mercy's tears no longer flow? Shall ruffian threats of cord and steel-- The dungeon's gloom--th' assassin's blow, Turn back the spirit roused to save The Truth--our Country--and the Slave?

Of human skulls that shrine was made, Round which the priests of Mexico Before their loathsome idol prayed-- Is Freedom's altar fashioned so? And must we yield to Freedom's God As offering meet, the negro's blood?

Shall tongues be mute, when deeds are wrought Which well might shame extremest Hell? Shall freemen lock th' indignant thought? Shall Mercy's bosom cease to swell? Shall Honor bleed?--Shall Truth succumb? Shall pen, and press, and soul be dumb?

No--by each spot of haunted ground, Where Freedom weeps her children's fall-- By Plymouth's rock--and Bunker's mound-- By Griswold's stained and shattered wall-- By Warren's ghost--by Langdon's shade-- By all the memories of our dead!

By their enlarging souls, which burst The bands and fetters round them set-- By the free Pilgrim spirit nursed Within our inmost bosoms, yet,-- By all above--around--below-- Be ours the indignant answer--no!

No--guided by our country's laws, For truth, and right, and suffering man, Be ours to strive in Freedom's cause, As Christians may--as freemen can! Still pouring on unwilling ears That truth oppression only fears.

TO THOSE I LOVE.

Words by Miss E.M. Chandler. Music from an old air by G.W.C.

[Music]

Oh, turn ye not displeased away, though I should sometimes seem Too much to press upon your ear, an oft repeated theme; The story of the negro's wrongs is heavy at my heart, And can I choose but wish from you a sympathizing part?

I turn to you to share my joy,--to soothe me in my grief-- In wayward sadness from your smiles, I seek a sweet relief: And shall I keep this burning wish to see the slave set free, Locked darkly in my secret heart, unshared and silently?

If I had been a friendless thing--if I had never known, How swell the fountains of the heart beneath affection's tone, I might have, careless, seen the leaf torn rudely from its stem, But clinging as I do to you, can I but feel for them?

I could not brook to list the sad sweet music of a bird, Though it were sweeter melody than ever ear hath heard, If cruel hands had quenched its light, that in the plaintive song, It might the breathing memory of other days prolong.

And can I give my lip to taste the life-bought luxuries, wrung From those on whom a darker night of anguish has been flung-- Or silently and selfishly enjoy my better lot, While those whom God hath bade me love, are wretched and forgot?

Oh no!--so blame me not, sweet friends, though I should sometimes seem Too much to press upon your ear an oft repeated theme; The story of the negro's wrongs hath won me from my rest,-- And I must strive to wake for him an interest in your breast!

WE'RE COMING! WE'RE COMING!

Air, "Kinloch of Kinloch."

[Music]

We're coming, we're coming, the fearless and free, Like the winds of the desert, the waves of the sea! True sons of brave sires who battled of yore, When England's proud lion ran wild on our shore! We're coming, we're coming, from mountain and glen, With hearts to do battle for freedom again; Oppression is trembling as trembled before, The Slavery which fled from our fathers of yore.

We're coming, we're coming, with banners unfurled, Our motto is FREEDOM, our country the world; Our watchword is LIBERTY--tyrants beware! For the liberty army will bring you despair! We're coming, we're coming, we'll come from afar, Our standard we'll nail to humanity's car; With shoutings we'll raise it, in triumph to wave, A trophy of conquest, or shroud for the brave.

Then arouse ye, brave hearts, to the rescue come on! The man-stealing army we'll surely put down; They are crushing their millions, but soon they must yield, For _freemen_ have _risen_ and taken the field. Then arouse ye! arouse ye! the fearless and free, Like the winds of the desert, the waves of the sea; Let the north, west, and east, to the sea-beaten shore, _Resound_ with a _liberty triumph_ once more.

ROUSE UP, NEW ENGLAND.

Words by a Yankee. Music by G.W.C.

[Music]

Rouse up, New England! Buckle on your mail of proof sublime, Your stern old hate of tyranny, your deep contempt of crime; A traitor plot is hatching now, more full of woe and shame, Than ever from the iron heart of bloodiest despot came.

Six slave States added at a breath! One flourish of a pen, And fetters shall be riveted on millions more of men! One drop of ink to sign a name, and slavery shall find For all her surplus flesh and blood, a market to her mind!

A market where good Democrats their fellow men may sell! O, what a grin of fiendish glee runs round and round thro' hell! How all the damned leap up for joy and half forget their fire, To think men take such pains to claim the notice of God's ire.

Is't not enough that we have borne the sneer of all the world, And bent to those whose haughty lips in scorn of us are curled? Is't not enough that we must hunt their living chattels back, And cheer the hungry bloodhounds on, that howl upon their track?

Is't not enough that we must bow to all that they decree,-- These cotton and tobacco lords, these pimps of slavery? That we must yield our conscience up to glut Oppression's maw, And break our faith with God to keep the letter of Man's law?

But must we sit in silence by, and see the chain and whip Made firmer for all time to come in Slavery's bloody grip! Must we not only half the guilt and all the shame endure, But help to make our tyrant's throne of flesh and blood secure?

Is water running in our veins? Do we remember still Old Plymouth rock, and Lexington, and glorious Bunker Hill? The debt we owe our Father's graves? and to the yet unborn, Whose heritage ourselves must make a thing of pride or scorn?

Grey Plymouth rock hath yet a tongue, and Concord is not dumb, And voices from our father's graves, and from the future come; They call on us to stand our ground, they charge us still to be Not only free from chains ourselves, but foremost to make free!

Awake, New England! While you sleep the foes advance their lines; Already on your stronghold's wall their bloody banner shines; Awake! and hurl them back again in terror and despair, The time has come for earnest deeds, we've not a man to spare.

RISE, FREEMEN, RISE.

Music by G.W.C.

[Music]

Rise, freemen rise! the call goes forth,
Attend the high command;
Obedience to the word of God,
Throughout this guilty land:
Throughout this guilty land.

Rise, free the slave; oh, burst his chains,
And cast his fetters down;
Let virtue be your country's pride,
Her diadem and crown.

Then shall the day at length arrive,
When all shall equal be,
And Freedom's banner, waving high,
Proclaim that all are free.

Remember Me.

O Thou, from whom all goodness flows!
I lift my heart to thee;
In all my wrongs, oppressions, woes,
Dear Lord! remember me.

Afflictions sore obstruct my way,
And ills I cannot flee;
Lord! let my strength be as my day,
And still remember me.

Oppressed with scourges, bonds, and grief,
This feeble body see;
Oh! give my burdened soul relief,
Hear, and remember me.

A BEACON HAS BEEN LIGHTED.

Parody by G.W.C. Air, "Blue-eyed Mary."

[Music]

A beacon has been lighted,
Bright as the noonday sun;
On worlds of mind benighted,
Its rays are pouring down;
Full many a shrine of error,
And many a deed of shame,
Dismayed, has shrunk in terror,
Before the lighted flame.

Chorus.

Victorious, on, victorious!
Proud beacon onward haste;
Till floods of light all glorious,
Illume the moral waste.

Oppression foul has foundered,
The demon gasps for breath;
His rapid march is downward,
To everlasting death.
Old age and youth united,
His works shall prostrate hurl,
And soon himself, affrighted,
Shall hurry from this world.
Victorious, on, victorious, &c.

Proud liberty untiring,
Strikes at the monster's heart;
Beneath her blows expiring,
He dreads her well-aimed dart.
Her blows--we'll pray "God speed" them,
Oppression to despoil;
And how we fought for freedom,
Let future ages tell.
Victorious, on, victorious, &c.

OUR COUNTRYMEN IN CHAINS.

Words by Whittier. "Beatitude," by T. Hastings.

[Music]

Our fellow countrymen in chains,
Slaves in a land of light and law!
Slaves crouching on the very plains
Where rolled the storm of Freedom's war!
A groan from Eutaw's haunted wood--
A wail where Camden's martyrs fell--
By every shrine of patriot blood,
From Moultrie's wall and Jasper's well.

By storied hill and hallow'd grot,
By mossy wood and marshy glen,
Whence rang of old the rifle-shot,
And hurrying shout of Marion's men!
The groan of breaking hearts is there--
The falling lash--the fetter's clank!
Slaves--SLAVES are breathing in that air,
Which old De Kalb and Sumter drank!

What, ho!--our countrymen in chains!
The whip on WOMAN'S shrinking flesh!
Our soil yet reddening with the stains,
Caught from her scourging, warm and fresh!
What! mothers from their children riven!
What! God's own image bought and sold!
AMERICANS to market driven,
And barter'd as the brute for gold!

Speak! shall their agony of prayer
Come thrilling to our hearts in vain?
To us, whose fathers scorn'd to bear
The paltry menace of a chain;
To us, whose boast is loud and long
Of holy Liberty and Light--
Say, shall these writhing slaves of wrong,
Plead vainly for their plunder'd Right?

Shall every flap of England's flag
Proclaim that all around are free,
From "farthest Ind" to each blue crag
That beetles o'er the Western Sea?
And shall we scoff at Europe's kings,
When Freedom's fire is dim with us,
And round our country's altar clings
The damning shade of Slavery's curse?

Just God! and shall we calmly rest,
The Christian's scorn--the Heathen's mirth--
Content to live the lingering jest
And by-word of a mocking Earth?
Shall our own glorious land retain
That curse which Europe scorns to bear?
Shall our own brethren drag the chain
Which not even Russia's menials wear?

Down let the shrine of Moloch sink,
And leave no traces where it stood;
No longer let its idol drink
His daily cup of human blood:
But rear another altar there,
To Truth, and Love, and Mercy given,
And Freedom's gift, and Freedom's prayer,
Shall call an answer down from Heaven!

Myron Holley.

BY W.H. BURLEIGH.

Yes--fame is his:--but not the fame
For which the conqueror pants and strives,
Whose path is tracked through blood and flame,
And over countless human lives!
His name no armed battalions hail
With bugle shriek or thundering gun,--
No widows curse him, as they wail
For slaughtered husband and for son.

Amid the moral strife alone,
He battled fearlessly and long,
And poured, with clear, untrembling tone,
Rebuke upon the hosts of Wrong--
To break Oppression's cruel rod,
He dared the perils of the fight,
And in the name of FREEDOM'S GOD
Struck boldly for the TRUE and RIGHT!

With faith, whose eye was never dim,
The triumph, yet afar, he saw,
When, bonds smote off from soul and limb,
And freed alike by Love and Law,
The slave--no more a slave--shall stand
Erect--and loud, from sea to sea,
Exultant burst o'er all the land
The glorious song of jubilee!

Why should we mourn, thy labor done,
That thou art called to thy reward;
Rest, Freedom's war-worn champion!
Rest, faithful soldier of the LORD!
For oh, not vainly hast thou striven,
Through storm, and gloom, and deepest night--
Not vainly hath thy life been given
For GOD, for FREEDOM, and for RIGHT.

VOICE OF NEW ENGLAND AGAINST SLAVERY.

Words by Whittier. Music by G.W.C.

[Music]

Up the hill side, down the glen, Rouse the sleeping citizen; Summon out the might of men! Like a lion growling low, Like a nightstorm rising slow, Like the tread of unseen foe.

It is coming--it is nigh! Stand your homes and altars by; On your own free threshholds die. Clang the bells in all your spires; On the gray hills of your sires Fling to heaven your signal fires.

Whoso shrinks or falters now, Whoso to the yoke would bow, Brand the craven on his brow. Freedom's soil hath only place For a free and fearless race-- None for traitors false and base.

Take your land of sun and bloom; Only leave to Freedom room For her plough, and forge, and loom. Take your slavery-blackened vales; Leave us but our own free gales, Blowing on our thousand sails.

Onward with your fell design; Dig the gulf and draw the line; Fire beneath your feet the mine: Deeply, when the wide abyss Yawns between your land and this, Shall ye feel your helplessness.

By the hearth, and in the bed, Shaken by a look or tread, Ye shall own a guilty dread. And the curse of unpaid toil, Downward through your generous soil, Like a fire shall burn and spoil.

Our bleak hills shall bud and blow, Vines our rocks shall overgrow, Plenty in our valleys flow;-- And when vengeance clouds your skies, Hither shall ye turn your eyes, As the damned on Paradise!

We but ask our rocky strand, Freedom's true and brother band, Freedom's strong and honest hand, Valleys by the slave untrod, And the Pilgrim's mountain sod, Blessed of our fathers' God!

THE CLARION OF FREEDOM.

Words from the Emancipator. Music "The Chariot."

[Music]

The clarion--the clarion of Freedom now sounds, From the east to the west Independence resounds; From the hills, and the streams, and the far distant skies, Let the shout Independence from Slav'ry arise.

The army--the army have taken the field, And the Liberty hosts never, never will yield; By free principles strengthened, each bosom now glows, And with ardor immortal the struggle they close.

The armor, the armor that girds every breast, Is the hope of deliverance for millions oppressed; O'er the tears, and the sighs, and the wrongs of the slave, See the white flag of freedom triumphantly wave.

The conflict--the conflict will shortly be o'er, And the demon of slavery shall rule us no more; And the laurels of victory shall surely reward The heroes immortal who've conquered for God.

STRIKE FOR LIBERTY.

Words from the Christian Freeman. Air, "Scots wha hae."

[Music]

Sons of Freedom's honored sires, Light anew your beacon fires, Fight till every foe retires From your hallowed soil. Sons of Pilgrim Fathers blest, Pilgrim Mothers gone to rest, Listen to their high behest, Strike for Liberty.

Ministers of God to men, Heed ye not the nation's sin? Heaven's blessing can ye win If ye falter now? Men of blood now ask your vote, O'er your heads their banners float; Raise, Oh raise the warning note, God and duty call!

Men of justice, bold and brave, To the ballot-box and save Freedom from her opening grave-- Onward! brothers, on! Christian patriots, tried and true, Freedom's eyes now turn to you; Foes are many--are ye few? Gideon's God is yours!

On to Victory.

BY REV. MRS. MARTYN.

Children of the glorious dead, Who for freedom fought and bled, With her banner o'er you spread, On to victory. Not for stern ambition's prize, Do our hopes and wishes rise; Lo, our leader from the skies, Bids us do or die.

Ours is not the tented field-- We no earthly weapons wield-- Light and love, our sword and shield, Truth our panoply. This is proud oppression's hour; Storms are round us; shall we cower? While beneath a despot's power Groans the suffering slave?

While on every southern gale, Comes the helpless captive's tale, And the voice of woman's wail, And of man's despair? While our homes and rights are dear, Guarded still with watchful fear, Shall we coldly turn our ear From the suppliant's prayer?

Never! by our Country's shame-- Never! by a Saviour's claim, To the men of every name, Whom he died to save. Onward, then, ye fearless band-- Heart to heart, and hand to hand; Yours shall be the patriot's stand-- Or the martyr's grave.

THE MAN FOR ME.

Parody by J.N.T. Tucker. Air, "The Rose that all are praising."

[Music]

Oh, he is not the man for me,
Who buys or sells a slave,
Nor he who will not set him free,
But sends him to his grave;
But he whose noble heart beats warm
For all men's life and liberty;
Who loves alike each human form--
Oh that's the man for me,
Oh that's the man for me,
Oh that's the man for me.

He's not at all the man for me,
Who sells a man for gain,
Who bends the pliant servile knee,
To Slavery's God of shame!
But he whose God-like form erect
Proclaims that all alike are free
To think, and speak, and vote, and act,
Oh that's the man for me.

He sure is not the man for me
Whose spirit will succumb,
When men endowed with Liberty
Lie bleeding, bound and dumb;
But he whose faithful words of might
Ring through the land from shore to sea,
For man's eternal equal right,
Oh that's the man for me.

No, no, he's not the man for me
Whose voice o'er hill and plain,
Breaks forth for glorious liberty,
But binds himself, the chain!
The mightiest of the noble band
Who prays and toils the world to free,
With head, and heart, and voice, and vote--
Oh that's the man for me.

PILGRIM SONG.

Words by Geo. Lunt. Air "Troubadour."

[Music]

Over the mountain wave
See where they come;
Storm-cloud and wintry wind
Welcome them home;
Yet where the sounding gale
Howls to the sea,
There their song peals along,
Deep toned and free.
Pilgrims and wanderers,
Hither we come;
Where the free dare to be,
This is our home.

England hath sunny dales,
Dearly they bloom;
Scotia hath heather-hills,
Sweet their perfume:
Yet through the wilderness
Cheerful we stray,
Native land, native land--
Home far away!
Pilgrims, &c.

Dim grew the forest path,
Onward they trod:
Firm beat their noble hearts,
Trusting in God!
Gray men and blooming maids,
High rose their song--
Hear it sweep, clear and deep
Ever along!
Pilgrims, &c.

Not theirs the glory-wreath,
Torn by the blast;
Heavenward their holy steps,
Heavenward they passed!
Green be their mossy graves!
Ours be their fame,
While their song peals along,
Ever the same!
Pilgrims, &c.

The Bondman.

FROM THE LIBERATOR.

Feebly the bondman toiled,
Sadly he wept--
Then to his wretched cot
Mournfully crept:
How doth his free-born soul
Pine 'neath his chain!
Slavery! Slavery!
Dark is thy reign.

Long ere the break of day,
Roused from repose,
Wearily toiling
Till after its close--
Praying for freedom,
He spends his last breath:
Liberty! Liberty!
Give me, or death.

When, when, oh Lord! will right
Triumph o'er wrong?
Tyrants oppress the weak,
Oh Lord! how long?
Hark! hark! a peal resounds
From shore to shore--
Tyranny! Tyranny!
Thy reign is o'er.

E'en now the morning
Gleams from the East--
Despots are feeling
Their triumph is past--
Strong hearts are answering
To freedom's loud call--
Liberty! Liberty!
Full and for all.

FOURTH OF JULY.

Words by Mrs. Sigourney. Music by G.W.C.

[Music]

We have a goodly clime,
Broad vales and streams we boast;
Our mountain frontiers frown sublime,
Old Ocean guards our coast.

Suns bless our harvests fair,
With fervid smile serene,
But a dark shade is gathering there,
What can its blackness mean?

We have a birth-right proud,
For our young sons to claim--
An eagle soaring o'er the cloud,
In freedom and in fame.

We have a scutcheon bright,
By our dead fathers bought;
A fearful blot distains its white--
Who hath such evil wrought?

Our banner o'er the sea
Looks forth with starry eye,
Emblazoned glorious, bold and free,
A letter on the sky--

What hand with shameful stain,
Hath marred its heavenly blue?
The yoke, the fasces, and the chain,
Say, are these emblems true?

This day doth music rare
Swell through our nation's bound,
But Afric's wailing mingles there,
And Heaven doth hear the sound.

O God of power! we turn
In penitence to thee,
Bid our loved land the lesson learn--
To bid the slave be free.

YE SPIRITS OF THE FREE.

Air--"My faith looks up to thee."

[Music]

Ye spirits of the free, Can ye for ever see Your brother man A yoked and scourged slave, Chains dragging to his grave, And raise no hand to save? Say if you can.

In pride and pomp to roll, Shall tyrants from the soul God's image tear, And call the wreck their own,-- While from th' eternal throne, They shut the stifled groan, And bitter prayer?

Shall he a slave be bound, Whom God hath doubly crowned Creation's lord? Shall men of Christian name, Without a blush of shame, Profess their tyrant claim From God's own word?

No! at the battle cry, A host prepared to die, Shall arm for fight-- But not with martial steel, Grasped with a murderous zeal; No arms their foes shall feel, But love and light.

Firm on Jehovah's laws, Strong in their righteous cause, They march to save. And vain the tyrant's mail, Against their battle-hail, Till cease the woe and wail Of tortured slave!

Sing Me a Triumph Song.

Sing me a triumph song, Roll the glad notes along, Great God, to thee! Thine be the glory bright, Source of all power and might! For thou hast said, in might, Man shall be free.

Sing me a triumph song, Let all the sound prolong, Air, earth, and sea, Down falls the tyrant's power, See his dread minions cower; Now, from this glorious hour, Man will be free.

Sing me a triumph song, Sing in the mighty throng, Sing Jubilee! Let the broad welkin ring, While to heaven's mighty King, Honor and praise we sing, For man is free.

WAKE, SONS OF THE PILGRIMS.

Air--"M'Gregor's Gathering."

[Music]

Wake, sons of the Pilgrims, and look to your right! The despots of Slav'ry are up in their might: Indulge not in sleep, it's like digging the graves Of blood-purchased freedom--'tis yielding like slaves. Then halloo, halloo, halloo to the contest, Awake from your slumbers, no longer delay, But struggle for freedom, while struggle you may-- Then rally, rally, rally, rally, rally, rally, While our forests shall wave or while rushes a river, Oh, yield not your birth-right! maintain it for ever!

Wake, Sons of the Pilgrims! why slumber ye on? Your chains are now forging, your fetters are done; Oh! sleep not, like Samson, on Slavery's foul arm, For, Delilah-like, she's now planning your harm. Then halloo, halloo, halloo, to the contest! Awake from your sleeping--nor slumber again, Once bound in your fetters, you'll struggle in vain; While your eye-balls may move, O wake up now, or never-- Wake, freemen! awake, or you're ruined forever!

Yes, freemen are waking! we fling to the breeze, The bright flag of freedom, the banner of Peace; The slave long forgotten, forlorn, and alone, We hail as a brother--our own mother's son! Then halloo, halloo, halloo, to the contest! For freedom we rally--for freedom to all-- To rescue the slave, and ourselves too from thrall. We rally, rally, rally, rally, rally, rally-- While a slave shall remain, bound, the weak by the stronger, We will never disband, but strive harder and longer.

OUR COUNTRYMEN ARE DYING.

Words by C.W. Dennison. Tune--"From Greenland's Icy Mountains."

[Music]

Our countrymen are dying
Beneath their cankering chains,
Full many a heart is sighing,
Where nought but slav'ry reigns;
No note of joy and gladness,
No voice with freedom's lay,
Fall on them in their sadness,
To wipe those tears away.

Where proud Potomac dashes
Along its northern strand,
Where Rappahannock lashes
Virginia's sparkling sand;
Where Eutaw, famed in story,
Flows swift to Santee's stream,
There, there in grief and gory,
The pining slave is seen!

And shall New England's daughters,
Descendants of the free,
Beside whose far-famed waters
Is heard sweet minstrelsy--
Shall they, when hearts are breaking,
And woman weeps in woe,
Shall they, all listless waiting,
No hearts of pity show.

No! let the shout for freedom
Ring out a certain peal,
Let sire and youthful maiden,
All who have hearts to feel,
Awake! and with the blessing
Of Him who came to save,
A holy, peaceful triumph,
Shall greet the kneeling slave!

We ask not Martial Glory.

We ask not "martial glory,"
Nor "battles bravely won;"
We tell no boastful story
To laud our "favorite son;"
We do not seek to gather
From glory's field of blood,
The laurels of the warrior,
Steeped in the crimson flood--

But we can boast that Birney
Holds not the tyrant's rod,
Nor binds in chains and fetters,
The image of his God;
No vassal, at his bidding,
Is doomed the lash to feel;
No menial crouches near him,
No Charley's[3] at his heel.

His heart is free from murder,
His hand without its stain;
His head and heart united,
To loose the bondman's chain:
His deeds of noble daring,
Shall make the tyrant cower;
Oppression flees before him,
With all its boasted power.

Soon shall the voice of freedom,
O'er earth its echoes roll--
And earth's rejoicing millions
Be free, from pole to pole.
Then rally round your leader,
Ye friends of liberty;
And let the shout for Birney,
Ring out o'er land and sea.

[Footnote 3: Clay's body servant.]

COME, JOIN THE ABOLITIONISTS.

Air--"When I can read my title clear."

[Music]

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.

WE ARE COME, ALL COME.

By G.W.C.

[Music]

We are come, all come, with the crowded throng, To join our notes in a plaintive song; For the bond man sighs, and the scalding tear Runs down his cheek while we mingle here.

We are come, all come, with a hallowed vow, At the shrine of slavery never to bow, For the despot's reign o'er hill and plain, Spreads grief and woe in his horrid train.

We are come, all come, a determined band, To rescue the slave from the tyrant's hand; And our prayers shall ascend with our songs to Him Who sits in the midst of the cherubim.

We are come, all come, in the strength of youth, In the light of hope and the power of truth; And we joy to see in our ranks to-day, The honored locks of the good and grey.

We are come, all come, in our holy might, And freedom's foes shall be put to flight; Oh God! with favoring smiles from thee, Our songs shall soon chant the victory.

THE LAW OF LOVE.

Words by a Lady. Music by G.W.C.

[Music]

Blest is the man whose tender heart
Feels all another's pain,
To whom the supplicating eye
Was never raised in vain,
Was never raised in vain.

Whose breast expands with generous warmth,
A stranger's woe to feel,
And bleeds in pity o'er the wound,
He wants the power to heal,
He wants the power to heal.

He spreads his kind supporting arms,
To every child of grief;
His secret bounty largely flows,
And brings unasked relief.

To gentle offices of love
His feet are never slow;
He views, through mercy's melting eye,
A brother in his foe.

To him protection shall be shown,
And mercy from above
Descend on those, who thus fulfil
The perfect law of love.

Oh! Charity!

Oh charity! thou heavenly grace,
All tender, soft, and kind,
A friend to all the human race,
To all that's good inclined.

The man of charity extends
To all his helping hand;
His kindred, neighbors, foes, and friends,
His pity may command.

The sick, the prisoner, deaf, and blind,
And all the sons of grief,
In him a benefactor find;
He loves to give relief.

'Tis love that makes religion sweet
'Tis love that makes us rise;
With willing minds, and ardent feet,
To yonder happy skies.

THE MERCY SEAT.

Words by Mrs. Sigourney. Music by G.W.C.

[Music]

From every stormy wind that blows, From every swelling tide of woes, There is a calm, a sure retreat-- Our refuge is the Mercy-seat.

There is a place where Jesus sheds The oil of gladness on our heads, A place than all beside more sweet-- We seek the blood-bought Mercy-seat.

There is a spot where spirits blend, Where friend holds fellowship with friend; Though sundered far, by faith we meet, Around one common Mercy-Seat.

Ah! whither could we flee for aid, When hunted, scourged, oppressed, dismayed,-- Or how our bloody foes defeat, Had suffering slaves no Mercy-Seat!

Oh! let these hands forget their skill, These tongues be silent, cold, and still, These throbbing hearts forget to beat, If we forget the Mercy-Seat.

Friend of the Friendless.

God of my life! to thee I call, Afflicted at thy feet I fall; When the great water-floods prevail, Leave not my trembling heart to fail.

Friend of the friendless and the faint! Where should I lodge my deep complaint? Where but with thee, whose open door Invites the helpless and the poor?

Did ever mourner plead with thee, And thou refuse that mourner's plea? Does not thy word still fixed remain, That none shall seek thy face in vain?

Poor though I am, despised, forgot, Yet God, my God forgets me not; And he is safe, he must succeed, For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.

WAKE YE NUMBERS!

Words by Lewis. Air, "Strike the Cymbals."

[Music]

Wake ye numbers! from your slumbers Hear the song of freedom pour! By its shaking, fiercely breaking, Every chain upon our shore. Flags are waving, all tyrants braving, Proudly, freely, o'er our plains; Let no minions check our pinions, While a single grief remains. Proud oblations, thou Queen of nations! Have been poured upon they waters; Afric's bleeding sons and daughters, Now before us, loud implore us, Looking to Jehovah's throne, Chains are wearing, hearts despairing, Will ye hear a nation's moan? Soothe their sorrow, ere the morrow Change their aching hearts to stone: Then the light of nature's smile Freedom's realm shall bless the while; And the pleasure mercy brings Flow from all her latent springs; Delight shall spread, shall spread her shining wings, Rejoicing, Rejoicing, Rejoicing.

Daily, nightly, burning brightly, Glory's pillar fills the air; Hearts are waking, chains are breaking, Freedom bids her sons prepare: O'er the ocean, in proud devotion, Incense rises to the skies; From our mountains, o'er our fountains, See, our Eagle proudly flies! What deploring impedes his soaring? Millions still in bondage sighing! Long in deep oppression lying! Shall their story mar our glory? Must their life in sorrow flow? Tears are falling! fetters galling! Listen to the cry of woe! Still oppressing! never blessing! Shall their grief no ending know? Yes! our nation yet shall feel; Time shall break the chain of steel; Then the slave shall nobly stand; Peace shall smile with lustre bland; Glory shall crown our happy land-- Forever.

COMFORT FOR THE BONDMAN.

Air--"Indian Philosopher."

[Music]

Come on, my partners in distress, My comrades in this wilderness, Who groan beneath your chains; A while forget your griefs and fears, And look beyond this vale of tears, To yon celestial plains.

Beyond the bounds of time and space, Look forward to that heavenly place, Which mortals never trod; On faith's strong eagle pinions rise, Work out your passage to the skies, And scale the mount of God.

If, like our Lord, we suffer here, We shall before his face appear, And at his side sit down; To patient faith the prize is sure, For all who to the end endure Shall wear a glorious crown.

Thrice blessed, exalted, blissful hope! It lifts our fainting spirits up, It brings to life the dead; Our bondage here will soon be past, Then we shall rise and reign at last, Triumphant with our Head.

Come and see the Works of God.

Lift up to God the shout of joy, Let all the earth its powers employ, To sound his glorious praise; Say, unto God--"How great art thou! Thy foes before thy presence bow! How gracious are thy ways!

"To thee all lands their homage bring, They raise the song, they shout, they sing The honors of thy name." Come! see the wondrous works of God; How dreadful is his vengeful rod! How wide extends his fame!

He made a highway through the sea, His people, long-enslaved, to free, And give them Canaan's land; Through endless years his reign extends, His piercing eye to earth he bends-- Ye despots! fear his hand.

O! bless our God, lift up your voice Ye people! sing aloud--rejoice-- His mighty praise declare; The Lord hath made our bondage cease, Broke off our chains, brought sure release, And turned to praise our prayer.

HARK! A VOICE FROM HEAVEN.

Words by Oliver Johnson. Music--"Zion."

[Music]

Hark! a voice from heaven proclaiming,
Comfort to the mourning slave;
God has heard him long complaining,
And extends his arm to save;
Proud oppression
Soon shall find a shameful grave;
Proud oppression,
Soon shall find a shameful end.

See, the light of truth is breaking
Full and clear on every hand;
And the voice of mercy speaking,
Now is heard through all the land:
Firm and fearless,
See the friends of freedom stand.

Lo! the nation is arousing
From its slumber long and deep;
And the friends of God are waking,
Never, never more to sleep,
While a bondman,
In his chains remains to weep.

Long, too long, have we been dreaming
O'er our country's sin and shame:
Let us now, the time redeeming,
Press the helpless captive's claim--
Till exulting,
He shall cast aside his chain.

THE PLEASANT LAND WE LOVE.

Words by N.P. Willis. Air, Carrier Dove.

[Music]

Joy to the pleasant land we love,
The land our fathers trod!
Joy to the land for which they won
"Freedom to worship God."
For peace on all its sunny hills,
On every mountain broods,
And sleeps by all its gushing rills,
And all its mighty floods.

The wife sits meekly by the hearth,
Her infant child beside;
The father on his noble boy
Looks with a fearless pride.
The grey old man, beneath the tree,
Tales of his childhood tells;
And sweetly in the hush of morn
Peal out the Sabbath bells.

And we ARE free--but is there not
One blot upon our name?
Is our proud record written fair
Upon the scroll of fame?
Our banner floateth by the shore,
Our flag upon the sea;
But when the fettered slave is loosed,
We shall be truly free!

The Freed Slave.

Yet once again, once more again,
My bark bounds o'er the wave;
They know not, who ne'er clanked the chain,
What 'tis to be a slave:
To sit alone, beside the wood,
And gaze upon the sky:
This may, indeed, be solitude,
But 'tis not slavery.

Fatigued with labor's noontide task,
To sigh in vain for sleep;
Or faintly smile, our griefs to mask,
When 't would be joy to weep;
To court the shade of leafy bower,
Thirst for the freedom wave,
But to obtain denied the power--
This is to be a slave!

Son of the sword! on honor's field
'Tis thine to find a grave;
Yet, when from life's worst ill 'twould shield,
It comes not to the slave.
The lightsome to the heavy heart,
The laugh changed to the sigh;
To live from all we love apart--
Oh! this is slavery.

The Liberty Flag.

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 shout
Our flag is the flag of the free.

MARCH TO THE BATTLEFIELD.

Parody by G.W.C. Air "Oft in the stilly night."

[Music]

March to the battlefield,
The foe is now before us;
Each heart is freedom's shield,
And heaven is smiling o'er us.
The woes and pains of slavery's chains,
That bind three millions under;
In proud disdain we'll burst their chain,
And tear each link asunder.

Who for his country brave,
Would fly from her invader?
Who his base life to save
Would traitor like degrade her?
Our hallowed cause--
Our homes and laws,
'Gainst tyrant hosts sustaining,
We'll win a crown of bright renown,
Or die, man's rights maintaining,
March to the battlefield, &c.

Oft in the Chilly Night.

BY PIERPONT.

Oft in the chilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
When all her silvery light
The moon is pouring round me,
Beneath its ray I kneel and pray
That God would give some token
That slavery's chains on Southern plains,
Shall all ere long be broken:
Yes, in the chilly night,
Though slavery's chain has bound me,
Kneel I, and feel the might
Of God's right arm around me.

When at the driver's call,
In cold or sultry weather,
We slaves, both great and small,
Turn out to toil together,
I feel like one from whom the sun
Of hope has long departed;
And morning's light, and weary night,
Still find me broken hearted:
Thus, when the chilly breath
Of night is sighing round me,
Kneel I, and wish that death
In his cold chain had bound me.

SONG OF THE FREE.

Parodied by G.W.C. Tune, Lutzow's Wild Hunt.

[Music]

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.

Holy Freedom.

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!

YE SONS OF FREEMEN.

Words by Mrs. J.G. Carter. Air, "Marseilles Hymn."

[Music]

Ye sons of freemen wake to sadness,
Hark! hark, what myriads bid you rise;
Three millions of our race in madness
Break out in wails, in bitter cries,
Break out in wails, in bitter cries;
Must men whose hearts now bleed with anguish,
Yes, trembling slaves, in freedom's land
Endure the lash, nor raise a hand?
Must nature 'neath the whip-cord languish?
Have pity on the slave,
Take courage from God's word;
Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved, these captives shall be free.

The fearful storm--it threatens lowering,
Which God in mercy long delays;
Slaves yet may see their masters cowering,
While whole plantations smoke and blaze!
While whole plantations smoke and blaze!
And we may now prevent the ruin,
Ere lawless force with guilty stride
Shall scatter vengeance far and wide--
With untold crimes their hands embruing.
Have pity on the slave;
Take courage from God's word;
Pray, on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free!

With luxury and wealth surrounded,
The southern masters proudly dare,
With thirst of gold and power unbounded,
To mete and vend God's light and air!
To mete and vend God's light and air;
Like beasts of burden, slaves are loaded,
Till life's poor toilsome day is o'er;
While they in vain for right implore;
And shall they longer still be goaded?
Have pity on the slave;
Take courage from God's word;
Toil on, toil on, all hearts resolved these captives shall be free.

O Liberty! can man e'er bind thee?
Can overseers quench thy flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee,
Or threats thy Heaven born spirit tame?
Or threats thy Heaven born spirit tame?
Too long the slave has groaned bewailing
The power these heartless tyrants wield;
Yet free them not by sword or shield,
For with men's heart's they're unavailing,
Have pity on the slave:
Take courage from God's word;
Vote on! vote on! all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free!

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!