Part 1

THE ANTI-SLAVERY HARP:

A COLLECTION OF SONGS FOR ANTI-SLAVERY MEETINGS

COMPILED BY

WILLIAM W. BROWN,

A FUGITIVE SLAVE.

1848.

PREFACE.

The demand of the public for a cheap Anti-Slavery Song-Book, containing Songs of a more recent composition, has induced me to collect together, and present to the public, the songs contained in this book.

In making this collection, however, I am indebted to the authors of the "Liberty Minstrel," and "the Anti-Slavery Melodies," But the larger portion of these songs has never before been published; some have never been in print.

To all true friends of the Slave, the Anti-Slavery Harp is respectfully dedicated,

W. W. BROWN.

BOSTON, JUNE, 1848.

SONGS.

HAVE WE NOT ALL ONE FATHER?

AM I NOT A MAN AND BROTHER?

AIR--Bride's Farewell.

Am I not a man and brother? Ought I not, then, to be free? Sell me not one to another, Take not thus my liberty. Christ our Saviour, Christ our Saviour, Died for me as well as thee.

Am I not a man and brother? Have I not a soul to save? Oh, do not my spirit smother, Making me a wretched slave; God of mercy, God of mercy, Let me fill a freeman's grave!

Yes, thou art a man and brother, Though thou long hast groaned a slave, Bound with cruel cords and tether From the cradle to the grave! Yet the Saviour, yet the Saviour, Bled and died all souls to save.

Yes, thou art a man and brother, Though we long have told thee nay; And are bound to aid each other, All along our pilgrim way. Come and welcome, come and welcome, Join with us to praise and pray!

O, PITY THE SLAVE MOTHER.

AIR--Araby's Daughter.

I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary, Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast; I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary, I lament for her woes, and her wrongs unredressed. O who can imagine her heart's deep emotion, As she thinks of her children about to be sold; You may picture the bounds of the rock-girdled ocean, But the grief of that mother can never be known.

The mildew of slavery has blighted each blossom, That ever has bloomed in her path-way below; It has froze every fountain that gushed in her bosom, And chilled her heart's verdure with pitiless woe; Her parents, her kindred, all crushed by oppression; Her husband still doomed in its desert to stay; No arm to protect from the tyrant's aggression-- She must weep as she treads on her desolate way.

O, slave mother, hope! see--the nation is shaking! The arm of the Lord is awake to thy wrong! The slave-holder's heart now with terror is quaking, Salvation and Mercy to Heaven belong! Rejoice, O rejoice! for the child thou art rearing, May one day lift up its unmanacled form, While hope, to thy heart, like the rain-bow so cheering, Is born, like the rain-bow, 'mid tempest and storm.

THE BLIND SLAVE BOY.

AIR--Sweet Afton.

Come back to me, mother! why linger away From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day! I mark every footstep, I list to each tone, And wonder my mother should leave me alone! There are voices of sorrow, and voices of glee, But there's no one to joy or to sorrow with me; For each hath of pleasure and trouble his share, And none for the poor little blind boy will care.

My mother, come back to me! close to thy breast Once more let thy poor little blind one be pressed; Once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek, And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak! O mother! I've no one to love me--no heart Can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part; No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind, O! none like a mother can cherish the blind!

Poor blind one! No mother thy wailing can hear, No mother can hasten to banish thy fear; For the slave-owner drives her, o'er mountain and wild, And for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child! Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal The anguish that none but a mother can feel, When man in his vile lust of mammon hath trod On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God!

Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone, She hears in her anguish his piteous moan, As he eagerly listens--but listens in vain, To catch the loved tones of his mother again! The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall On the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall, And his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy, Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy!

YE SONS OF FREEMEN.

AIR--Marseilles Hymn.

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

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 imbruing. 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 hearts they're unavailing; Have pity on the slave; Take courage from God's word; Toil on! toil on! all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free!

FREEDOM'S STAR.

AIR--Silver Moon.

As I strayed from my cot at the close of the day, I turned my fond gaze to the sky; I beheld all the stars as so sweetly they lay, And but one fixed my heart or my eye. Shine on, northern star, thou'rt beautiful and bright To the slave on his journey afar; For he speeds from his foes in the darkness of night, Guided on by thy light, freedom's star.

On thee he depends when he threads the dark woods Ere the bloodhounds have hunted him back; Thou leadest him on over mountains and floods, With thy beams shining full on his track. Shine on, &c.

Unwelcome to him is the bright orb of day, As it glides o'er the earth and the sea; He seeks then to hide like a wild beast of prey, But with hope, rests his heart upon thee. Shine on, &c.

May never a cloud overshadow thy face, While the slave flies before his pursuer; Gleam steadily on to the end of his race, Till his body and soul are secure. Shine on, &c.

THE LIBERTY BALL.

AIR--Rosin the Bow.

Come all ye true friends of the nation, Attend to humanity's call; Come aid the poor slave's liberation, And roll on the liberty ball-- And roll on the liberty ball-- Come aid the poor slave's liberation, And roll on the liberty ball.

The Liberty hosts are advancing-- For freedom to _all_ they declare; The down-trodden millions are sighing-- Come, break up our gloom of despair. Come break up our gloom of despair, &c.

Ye Democrats, come to the rescue, And aid on the liberty cause, And millions will rise up and bless you, With heart-cheering songs of applause, With heart-cheering songs, &c.

Ye Whigs, forsake slavery's minions, And boldly step into our ranks; We care not for party opinions, But invite all the friends of the banks,-- And invite all the friends of the banks, &c,

And when we have formed the blest union We'll firmly march on, one and all-- We'll sing when we meet in communion, And _roll on_ the liberty ball, And roll on the liberty ball, dec.

EMANCIPATION HYMN OF THE WEST INDIAN NEGROES. FOR THE FIRST OF AUGUST CELEBRATION.

Praise we the Lord! let songs resound To earth's remotest shore! Songs of thanksgiving, songs of praise-- For we are slaves no more.

Praise we the Lord! His power hath rent The chains that held us long! His voice is mighty, as of old, And still His arm is strong.

Praise we the Lord! His wrath arose, His arm our fetters broke; The tyrant dropped the lash, and we To liberty awoke!

Praise we the Lord! let holy songs Rise from these happy isles!-- O! let us not unworthy prove, On whom His bounty smiles.

And cease we not the fight of faith Till all mankind be free; Till mercy o'er the earth shall flow, As waters o'er the sea.

Then shall indeed Messiah's reign Through all the world extend; Then swords to ploughshares shall be turned, And Heaven with earth shall blend.

OVER THE MOUNTAIN.

Over the mountain, and over the moor, Hungry and weary I wander forlorn; My father is dead, and my mother is poor, And she grieves for the days that will never return; Give me some food for my mother in charity; Give me some food and then I will be gone. Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity, Cold blows the wind and the night's coming on.

Call me not indolent beggar and bold enough, Fain would I learn both to knit and to sew; I've two little brothers at home, when they're old enough, They will work hard for the gifts you bestow; Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity. Cold blows the wind, and the night's coming on; Give me some food for my mother in charity, Give me some food, and then I will begone.

JUBILEE SONG.

Air--Away the Bowl.

Our grateful hearts with joy o'erflow, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, We hail the Despot's overthrow, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, No more he'll raise the gory lash, And sink it deep in human flesh, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.

We raise the song in Freedom's name, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Her glorious triumph we proclaim, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Beneath her feet lie Slavery's chains, Their power to curse no more remains, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.

With joy we'll make the air resound, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, That all may hear the gladsome sound, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, We glory at Oppression's fall, The Slave has burst his deadly thrall, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.

In mirthful glee we'll dance and sing, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, With shouts we'll make the welkin ring, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Shout! shout aloud! the bondsman's free! This, this is Freedom's jubilee! Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.

SPIRIT OF FREEMEN, WAKE.

AIR--America.

Spirit of Freemen, wake; No truce with Slavery make, Thy deadly foe; In fair disguises dressed, Too long hast thou caress'd The serpent in thy breast, Now lay him low.

Must e'en the press be dumb? Must truth itself succumb? And thoughts be mute? Shall law be set aside, The right of prayer denied, Nature and God decried, And man called brute?

What lover of her fame Feels not his country's shame, In this dark hour? Where are the patriots now, Of honest heart and brow, Who scorn the neck to bow To Slavery's power?

Sons of the Free! we call On you, in field and hall, To rise as one; Your heaven-born rights maintain, Nor let Oppression's chain On human limbs remain;-- Speak! and 't is done.

THE SLAVE'S LAMENTATION.

AIR--Long, long ago.

Where are the friends that to me were so dear, Long, long ago--long ago! Where are the hopes that my heart used to cheer? Long, long ago--long ago! I am degraded, for man was my foe, Friends that I loved in the grave are laid low, All hope of freedom hath fled from me now, Long, long ago--long, long ago!

Sadly my wife bowed her beautiful head-- Long, long ago--long ago! O, how I wept when I found she was dead! Long, long ago--long ago! She was my angel, my love and pride-- Vainly to save her from torture I tried, Poor broken heart! She rejoiced as she died, Long, long ago--long, long ago!

Let me look back on the days of my youth-- Long, long ago--long ago! Master withheld from me knowledge and truth-- Long, long ago--long ago! Crushed all the hopes of my earliest day, Sent me from father and mother away-- Forbade me to read, nor allowed me to pray-- Long, long ago--long, long ago!

FLIGHT OF THE BONDMAN. DEDICATED TO WILLIAM W. BROWN _And Sung by the Hutchinsons_

BY ELIAS SMITH.

AIR--Silver Moon.

From the crack of the rifle and baying of hound, Takes the poor panting bondman his flight; His couch through the day is the cold damp ground, But northward he runs through the night.

Chorus. O, God speed the flight of the desolate slave, Let his heart never yield to despair; There is room 'mong our hills for the true and the brave, Let his lungs breathe our free northern air!

O, sweet to the storm-driven sailor the light, Streaming far o'er the dark swelling wave; But sweeter by far 'mong the lights of the night, Is the star of the north to the slave. O, God speed, &c.

Cold and bleak are our mountains and chilling our winds, But warm as the soft southern gales Be the hands and the hearts which the hunted one finds, 'Mong our hills and our own winter vales. O, God speed, &c.

Then list to the 'plaint of the heart-broken thrall, Ye blood-hounds, go back to your lair; May a free northern soil soon give freedom to _all_, Who shall breathe in its pure mountain air. O, God speed, &c.

THE SWEETS OF LIBERTY.

AIR--Is there a heart, &c.

Is there a man that never sighed To set the prisoner free? Is there a man that never prized The sweets of liberty? Then let him, let him breathe unseen, Or in a dungeon live; Nor never, never know the sweets That liberty can give.

Is there a heart so cold in man, Can galling fetters crave? Is there a wretch so truly low, Can stoop to be a slave? O, let him, then, in chains be bound, In chains and bondage live; Nor never, never know the sweets That liberty can give.

Is there a breast so chilled in life, Can nurse the coward's sigh? Is there a creature so debased, Would not for freedom die? O, let him then be doomed to crawl Where only reptiles live; Nor never, never know the sweets That liberty can give.

YE SPIRITS OF THE FREE.

AIR--My Faith looks up to thee.

Ye spirits of the free, Can ye forever 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 the 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!

COLONIZATION SONG. TO THE FREE COLORED PEOPLE.

AIR--Spider and the fly.

Will you, will you be colonized? Will you, will you be colonized?

'Tis a land that with honey And milk doth abound, Where the lash is not heard, And the scourge is not found. Chorus, Will you, &c.

If you stay in this land Where the white man has rule, You will starve by his hand, In both body and soul. Chorus.

For a nuisance you are, In this land of your birth, Held down by his hand, And crushed to the earth. Chorus.

My religion is pure, And came from above, But I cannot consent The black negro to love. Chorus.

It is true there is judgment That hangs o'er the land, But 't will all turn aside, When you follow the plan. Chorus.

You're ignorant I know, In this land of your birth, And religion though pure, Cannot move the curse. Chorus.

But only consent, Though extorted by force, What a blessing you'll prove, On the African coast. Chorus.

I AM AN ABOLITIONIST.

AIR--Auld Lang Syne.

I am an Abolitionist! I glory in the name: Though now by Slavery's minions hiss'd And covered o'er with shame, It is a spell of light and power-- The watchword of the free:-- Who spurns it in the trial-hour, A craven soul is he!

I am an Abolitionist! Then urge me not to pause; For joyfully do I enlist In FREEDOM'S sacred cause: A nobler strife the world ne'er saw, Th' enslaved to disenthral; I am a soldier for the war, Whatever may befall!

I am an Abolitionist! Oppression's deadly foe; In God's great strength will I resist, And lay the monster low; In God's great name do I demand, To all be freedom given, That peace and joy may fill the land, And songs go up to heaven!

I am an Abolitionist! No threats shall awe my soul, No perils cause me to desist, No bribes my acts control; A freeman will I live and die, In sunshine and in shade, And raise my voice for liberty, Of nought on earth afraid.

THE BEREAVED MOTHER.

Air--Kathleen O'More.

O, deep was the anguish of the slave mother's heart, When called from her darling for ever to part; So grieved that lone mother, that heart broken mother, In sorrow and woe.

The lash of the master her deep sorrows mock, While the child of her bosom is sold on the block; Yet loud shrieked that mother, poor heart broken mother, In sorrow and woe.

The babe in return, for its fond mother cries, While the sound of their wailings, together arise; They shriek for each other, the child and the mother, In sorrow and woe.

The harsh auctioneer, to sympathy cold, Tears the babe from its mother and sells it for gold; While the infant and mother, loud shriek for each other, In sorrow and woe.

At last came the parting of mother and child, Her brain reeled with madness, that mother was wild; Then the lash could not smother the shrieks of that mother Of sorrow and woe.

The child was borne off to a far distant clime, While the mother was left in anguish to pine; But reason departed, and she sank broken hearted, In sorrow and woe.

That poor mourning mother, of reason bereft, Soon ended her sorrows and sank cold in death; Thus died that slave mother, poor heart broken mother, In sorrow and woe.

O, list ye kind mothers to the cries of the slave; The parents and children implore you to save; Go! rescue the mothers, the sisters and brothers, From sorrow and woe.

THE CHASE.

AIR--Sweet Afton.

Quick, fly to the covert, thou hunted of men! For the bloodhounds are baying o'er mountain and glen; The riders are mounted, the loose rein is given, And curses of wrath are ascending to heaven. O, speed to thy footsteps! for ruin and death, Like the hurricane's rage, gather thick round thy path; And the deep muttered curses grow loud and more loud, As horse after horse swells the thundering crowd.

Speed, speed, to thy footsteps! thy track has been found; Now, _sport_ for the _rider_, and _blood_ for the _hound!_ Through brake and through forest the man-prey is driven; O, help for the hopeless, thou merciful Heaven! On! on to the mountain! they're baffled again, And hope for the woe-stricken still may remain; The fast-flagging steeds are all white with their foam, The bloodhounds have turned from the chase to their home.

Joy! joy to the wronged one! the haven he gains, Escaped from his thraldom, and freed from his chains! The heaven-stamped image--the God-given soul-- No more shall the spoiler at pleasure control. O, shame to Columbia, that on her bright plains, Man pines in his fetters, and curses his chains! Shame! shame! that her star-spangled banner should wave Where the lash is made red in the blood of the slave.

Sons of old Pilgrim Fathers! and are ye thus dumb? Shall tyranny triumph, and freedom succumb? While mothers are torn from their children apart, And agony sunders the cords of the heart? Shall the sons of those sires that once spurned the chain, Turn bloodhounds to hunt and make captive again? O, shame to your honor, and shame to your pride, And shame on your memory ever abide!

Will not your old sires start up from the ground, At the crack of the whip, and bay of the hound, And shaking their skeleton hands in your face, Curse the germs that produced such a miscreant race?

O, rouse ye for freedom, before on your path Heaven pours without mixture the vials of wrath! Loose every hard burden--break off every chain-- Restore to the bondman his freedom again.

FLING OUT THE ANTI-SLAVERY FLAG.

AIR--Auld Lang Syne

Fling out the Anti-slavery flag On every swelling breeze; And let its folds wave o'er the land, And o'er the raging seas, Till all beneath the standard sheet, With new allegiance bow; And pledge themselves to onward bear The emblem of their vow.

Fling out the Anti-Slavery flag, And let it onward wave Till it shall float o'er every clime, And liberate the slave; Till, like a meteor flashing far, It bursts with glorious light, And with its Heaven-born rays dispels The gloom of sorrow's night.

Fling out the Anti-Slavery flag, And let it not be furled, Till like a planet of the skies, It sweeps around the world. And when each poor degraded slave, Is gathered near and far; O, fix it on the azure arch, As hope's eternal star.

Fling out the Anti-Slavery flag, Forever let it be The emblem to a holy cause, The banner of the free. And never from its guardian height, Let it by man be driven, But let it float forever there, Beneath the smiles of heaven.

THE YANKEE GIRL.

She sings by her wheel at that low cottage door, Which the long evening shadow is stretching before; With a music as sweet as the music which seems Breathed softly and faintly in the ear of our dreams!

How brilliant and mirthful the light of her eye, Like a star glancing out from the blue of the sky! And lightly and freely her dark tresses play O'er a brow and a bosom as lovely as they!

Who comes in his pride to that low cottage door-- The haughty and rich to the humble and poor? 'Tis the great Southern planter--the master who waves His whip of dominion o'er hundreds of slaves.

"Nay, Ellen, for shame! Let those Yankee fools spin, Who would pass for our slaves with a change of their skin; Let them toil as they will at the loom or the wheel Too stupid for shame and too vulgar to feel!

"But thou art too lovely and precious a gem To be bound to their burdens and sullied by them-- For shame, Ellen, shame!--cast thy bondage aside, And away to the South, as my blessing and pride.

"O, come where no winter thy footsteps can wrong, But where flowers are blossoming all the year long, Where the shade of the palm-tree is over my home, And the lemon and orange are white in their bloom!

"O, come to my home, where my servants shall all Depart at thy bidding and come at thy call; They shall heed thee as mistress with trembling and awe, And each wish of thy heart shall be felt as a law."

O, could ye have seen her--that pride of our girls-- Arise and cast back the dark wealth of her curls, With a scorn in her eye which the gazer could feel, And a glance like the sunshine that flashes on steel:

"Go back, haughty Southron! thy treasures of gold Are dim with the blood of the hearts thou hast sold! Thy home may be lovely, but round it I hear The crack of the whip and the footsteps of fear!