Part 3

There is a country far away, Friend Hopper says ’tis Canada, And if we reach Victoria’s shore, He says that we are slaves no more. Chorus. Now hasten all bondmen, let us go And leave this _Christian_ country O; Haste to the land of the British Queen, Where whips for negroes are not seen.

Now if we go, we must take the night-- We’re sure to die if we come in sight, The bloodhounds will be on our track, And we to us if they fetch us back. Chorus. Now haste all bondmen, let us go, And leave this _Christian_ country O; God help us to Victoria’s shore, Where we are free and slaves no more.

THE SLAVE’S SONG.

AIR--Dearest Maie.

Now, freemen, listen to my song, a story I’ll relate, It happened in the valley of the old Carolina State: They marched me to the cotton field, at early break of day, And worked me there till late sunset, without a cent of pay. Chorus. They worked me all the day, Without a bit of pay, And believed me when I told them That I would not run away.

Massa gave me a holiday, and said he’d give me more, I thanked him very kindly, and shoved my boat from shore; I drifted down the river, my heart was light and free, I had my eye on the bright north star, and thought of liberty. They worked me all the day, Without a bit of pay, So I took my flight in the middle of the night, When the sun was gone away.

I jumped out of my good old boat and shoved it from the shore, And travelled faster that night than I had ever done before; I came up to a farmer’s house, just at the break of day, And saw a white man standing there, said he, “You are run away.” They worked me all the day, Without a bit of pay, So I took my flight in the middle of the night, When the sun was gone away.

I told him I had left the whip, and baying of the hound, To find a place where man was man, if such there could be found, That I heard in Canada, all mankind were free, And that I was going there in search of liberty. They worked me all the day, Without a bit of pay, So I took my flight in the middle of the night, When the sun was gone away.

THERE’S A GOOD TIME COMING.

There’s a good time coming, boys, A good time coming; There’s a good time coming, boys, Wait a little longer. We may not live to see the day, But earth shall glisten in the ray Of the good time coming; Cannon balls may aid the truth, But thought’s a weapon stronger; We’ll win our battle by its aid, Wait a little longer. O, there’s a good time, &c.

There’s a good time coming, boys, A good time coming; The pen shall supersede the sword, And right not might shall be the lord, In the good time coming. Worth, not birth shall rule mankind, And be acknowledged stronger, The proper impulse has been given, Wait a longer. O, there’s a good time, &c.

There’s a good time coming, boys, A good time coming; Hateful rivalries of creed, Shall not make their martyrs bleed, In the good time coming. Religion shall be shorn of pride, And flourish all the stronger; And Charity shall trim her lamp, Wait a little longer. O, there’s a good time, &c.

There’s a good time coming, boys, A good time coming; War in all men’s eyes shall be A monster of iniquity, In the good time coming. Nations shall not quarrel then, To prove which is the stronger; Nor slaughter men for glory’s sake, Wait a little longer. O, there’s a good time, &c.

THE BIGOT FIRE.

Written on the occasion of George Latimer’s imprisonment in Leverett street Jail, Boston.

O kindle not that bigot fire, ’Twill bring disunion, fear and pain; ’Twill rouse at last the souther’s ire, And burst our starry land in twain.

Theirs is the high, the noble worth, The very soul of chivalry; Rend not our blood-bought land apart, For such a thing as slavery.

This is the language of the North, I shame to say it, but ’tis true; And anti-slavery calls it forth, From some proud priests and laymen too.

What! bend forsooth to southern rule? What! cringe and crawl to souther’s clay, And be the base, the supple tool, Of hell-begotten slavery?

No! Never, while the free air plays O’er our rough hills and sunny fountains, Shall proud New England’s sons be _free_, And clank their fetters round her mountains.

Go if ye will and grind in dust, Dark Afric’s poor, degraded child; Wring from his sinews gold accursed, And boast your gospel warm and mild.

While on our mountain tops the pine In freedom her green branches wave, Her sons shall never stoop to bind The galling shackle of the slave.

Ye dare demand with haughty tone For us to pander to your shame, To give our brother up alone, To feel the lash and wear the chain.

Our brother never shall go back, When once he presses our free shore; Though souther’s power with hell to back, Comes thundering at our northern door.

No! rather be our starry land Into a thousand fragments riven; Upon our own free hills we’ll stand, And pour upon the breeze of heaven, A curse so loud, so stern, so deep, Shall start ye in your guilty sleep.

OFT IN THE CHILLY NIGHT.

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.

ARE YE TRULY FREE?

AIR--Martyn.

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_.

COME JOIN THE ABOLITIONISTS.

AIR--When I can read my title clear.

Come join the Abolitionists, Ye young men bold and strong, And with a warm and cheerful zeal, Come help the cause along; O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, O that will be joyful, when Slavery is no more, When Slavery is no more. ’Tis then we’ll sing, and offerings bring, When Slavery is no more.

Come join the Abolitionists, Ye men of riper years, And save your wives and children dear, From grief and bitter tears; O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, O that will be joyful, when Slavery is no more, When Slavery is no more, ’Tis then we’ll sing, and offerings bring, When Slavery 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, 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, 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.

THE SLAVE’S A MAN, FOR A’ THAT.

Though stripped of all the dearest rights Which nature claims and a’ that, There’s that which in the slave unites To make the man for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, Though dark his skin, and a’ that, We cannot rob him of his kind, The slave’s a man, for a’ that.

Though by his brother bought and sold, And beat and scourged, and a’ that, His wrongs can ne’er be felt or told, Yet he’s a man for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, His body chained and a’ that, The image of his God remains,-- The slave’s a man, for a’ that.

How dark the spirit that enslaves! Yet darker still than a’ that, He, who amid the light, still craves Apologies, and a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, Small evil finds, and a’ that, In crimes which are of darkest hue, And foulest deeds, and a’ that.

If those who now in bondage groan, Were white, and fair, and a’ that, O should we not their fate bemoan, And plead their cause, and a’ that? For a’ that, and a’ that, Would any say, in a’ that We’ve nought to do--they are not here-- We’ll mind our own, and a’ that?

O tell us not they’re clothed and fed, ’Tis insult, stuff, and a’ that; With freedom gone, all joy is fled, For Heaven’s best gift is a’ that! For a’ that, and a’ that, Free agency, and a’ that, We get from Him who rules on high-- The slave we rob of a’ that.

Then think not to escape His wrath, Who’s equal, just, and a’ that; His warning voice is sounded forth, We heed it not, for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, ’Tis not less sure for a’ that; His vengeance, though ’tis long delayed, Will come at last, for a’ that.

YOUR BROTHER IS A SLAVE.

O weep, ye friends of Freedom, weep! Shout liberty no more; Your harps to mournful measures sweep, Till slavery’s reign is o’er. O, furl your star-lit thing of light-- That banner should not wave Where vainly pleading for his right, Your brother toils--_a Slave_!

O pray, ye friends of Freedom, For those who toil in chains, Who lift their fettered hands to-day On Carolina’s plain! God is the hope of the Oppressed; His arm is strong to save; Pray, then, that freedom’s cause be blest, Your brother is _a Slave_!

O toil, ye friends of freedom, toil! Your mission to fulfil,-- That Freedom’s consecrated soil Slaves may no longer till; Ay, toil and pray from deep disgrace Your native land to save; Weep o’er the miseries of your race, _Your Brother is a slave_!

WHAT MEAN YE?

AIR--Ortonville.

What mean ye that ye bruise and bind My people, saith the Lord, And starve your craving brother’s mind, Who asks to hear my word?

What mean ye that ye make them toil, Through long and dreary years, And shed like rain upon your soil Their blood and bitter tears?

What mean ye, that ye dare to rend The tender mother’s heart? Brothers from sisters, friend from friend, How dare you bid them part?

What mean ye, when God’s bounteous hand To you so much has given, That from the slave who tills your land Ye keep both earth and heaven?

When at the judgment God shall call, Where is thy brother? say, What mean ye to the judge of all To answer on that day?

EMANCIPATION SONG.

AIR--Crambambule.

Let waiting throngs now lift their voices, As Freedom’s glorious day draws near, While every gentle tongue rejoices, And each bold heart is filled with cheer; The slave has seen the Northern star, He’ll soon be free, hurrah, hurrah!

Though many still are writhing under The cruel whips of “chevaliers,” Who mothers from their children sunder, And scourge them for their helpless tears-- Their safe deliverance is not far, The day draws nigh!--hurrah, hurrah!

Just ere the dawn the darkness deepest Surrounds the earth as with a pall; Dry up thy tears, O thou that weepest, That on thy sight the rays may fall! No doubt let now thy bosom mar; Send up the shout--hurrah, hurrah!

Shall we distrust the God of heaven?-- He every doubt and fear will quell; By him the captive’s chains are riven-- So let us loud the chorus swell! Man shall be free from cruel law,-- Man shall be MAN!--hurrah, hurrah!

No more again shall it be granted To southern overseers to rule; No more will pilgrim’s sons be taunted With cringing low in slavery’s school. So clear the way for Freedom’s car, The free shall rule!--hurrah, hurrah!

Send up the shout Emancipation-- From heaven let the echoes bound-- Soon will it bless this franchised nation, Come raise again the stirring sound! Emancipation near and far-- Send up the shout--hurrah! hurrah!

INDEX

A Song for Freedom, 36

Are ye truly Free? 42

Blind Slave Boy, 5

Bereaved Slave Mother, 18

Be Free, O Man, be Free, 26

Come join the Abolitionists, 43

Emancipation Song, 47

Freedom’s Star, 7

Freedom’s Banner, 3

Flight of the Bondman, 15

Fling out the Anti-Slavery Flag, 22

Fugitive Slave to the Christian, 27

Fugitive’s Triumph, 33

Get off the Track, 25

I am an Abolitionist, 17

I’ll be Free, I’ll be Free, 19

Jefferson’s Daughter, 23

Jubilee Song, 11

Liberty Ball, 8

Lament of the Fugitive Slave, 30

North Star, 9

Over the Mountain, 10

O, Pity the Slave Mother, 4

On to Victory, 32

Oft in the Chilly Night, 41

Rescue the Slave, 28

Right on, 34

Spirit of Freemen, Wake, 12

Song for the Times, 13

Song of the Coffle Gang, 29

The Slave’s Lamentation, 12

The Sweets of Liberty, 15

The Yankee Girl, 20

The Slave Auction, 24

The Bondman, 33

The Man for Me, 35

The Slave’s Song, 38

There’s a Good Time coming, 39

The Bigot Fire, 40

The Slave’s a Man, for a’ that, 44

We’re coming, We’re Coming, 31

What Mean Ye? 46

Ye Sons of Freemen, 6

Ye Spirits of the Free, 16

Ye Heralds of Freedom, 29

Your Brother is a Slave, 45