Chapter 6
Our forefathers plighted their honor, Their lives and their property, too, To maintain in defiance of Britain, Their principles, righteous and true.
We'll show to the world we are worthy The blessings our ancestors won, And finish the temple of Freedom, That HANCOCK and FRANKLIN begun.
Hurra, for the old-fashioned doctrine, That men are created all free! We ever will boldly maintain it, Nor care who the tyrant may be.
When Poland was fighting for freedom, Our voices went over the sea, To bid her God-speed in the contest-- That Poland, like us, might be free.
When down-trodden Greece had up-risen, And baffled the Mahomet crew; We rejoiced in the glorious issue, That Greece had her liberty, too.
Repeal, do we also delight in-- Three cheers for the "gem of the sea!" And soon may the bright day be dawning, When Ireland, like us, shall be free.
Like us, who are foes to oppression; But not like America now. With shame do we blush to confess it, Too many to slavery bow.
We're foes unto wrong and oppression, No matter which side of the sea; And ever intend to oppose them, Till all of God's image are free.
Some tell us because men are colored, They should not our sympathy share; We ask not the form or complexion-- The seal of our Maker is there!
Success to the old-fashioned doctrine, That men are created all free! And down with the power of the despot, Wherever his strongholds may be.
We're proud of the name of a freeman, And proud of the character, too; And never will do any action, Save such as a freeman may do.
We'll finish the Temple of Freedom, And make it capacious within, That all who seek shelter may find it, Whatever the hue of their skin.
For thus the Almighty designed It, And gave to our fathers the plan; Intending that liberty's blessings, Should rest upon every man.
Then up with the cap-stone and cornice, With columns encircle its wall, Throw open its gateway, and make it A HOME AND A REFUGE FOR ALL!
BREAK EVERY YOKE.
Tune--"O no, we never mention her."
[Music]
Break every yoke, the Gospel cries, And let th' oppressed go free, Let every captive taste the joys Of peace and liberty.
Send thy good Spirit from above, And melt th' oppressor's heart, Send sweet deliv'rance to the slave, And bid his woes depart.
Lord, when shall man thy voice obey, And rend each iron chain, Oh when shall love its golden sway, O'er all the earth maintain.
With freedom's blessings crown his day-- O'erflow his heart with love, Teach him that straight and narrow way, Which leads to rest above.
THE YANKEE GIRL.
Words by Whittier. Music by G.W.C.
[Music]
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 faint 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.
"Oh, 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!
"Oh, 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."
Oh, 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!
"And the sky of thy South may be brighter than ours, And greener thy landscapes, and fairer thy flowers; But, dearer the blast round our mountains which raves, Than the sweet summer zephyr which breathes over slaves!
"Full low at thy bidding thy negroes may kneel, With the iron of bondage on spirit and heel; Yet know that the Yankee girl sooner would be In _fetters_ with _them_, than in freedom with _thee_!"
FREEDOM'S GATHERING.
Words from the Pennsylvania Freeman. Music by G.W.C.
[Music]
A voice has gone forth, and the land is awake! Our freemen shall gather from ocean to lake, Our cause is as pure as the earth ever saw, And our faith we will pledge in the thrilling huzza. Then huzza, then huzza, Truth's glittering falchion for freedom we draw.
Let them blacken our names and pursue us with ill, Our hearts shall be faithful to liberty still; Then rally! then rally! come one and come all, With harness well girded, and echo the call.
Thy hill-tops, New England, shall leap at the cry, And the prairie and far distant south shall reply; It shall roll o'er the land till the farthermost glen Gives back the glad summons again and again.
Oppression shall hear in its temple of blood, And read on its wall the handwriting of God; Niagara's torrent shall thunder it forth, It shall burn in the sentinel star of the North.
It shall blaze in the lightning, and speak in the thunder, Till Slavery's fetters are riven asunder, And freedom her rights has triumphantly won, And our country her garments of beauty put on. Then huzza, then huzza, Truth's glittering falchion for freedom we draw.
Let them blacken our names, and pursue us with ill, We bow at thy altar, sweet liberty still! As the breeze f'm the mountain sweeps over the river, So, changeless and free, shall our thoughts be, for ever.
Then on to the conflict for freedom and truth; Come Matron, come Maiden, come Manhood and youth, Come gather! come gather! come one and come all, And soon shall the altars of Slavery fall.
The forests shall know it, and lift up their voice, To bid the green prairies and valleys rejoice; And the "Father of Waters," join Mexico's sea, In the anthem of Nature for millions set free. Then huzza! then huzza! Truth's glittering falchion for freedom we draw.
Be kind to each other.
BY CHARLES SWAIN.
Be kind to each other! The night's coming on, When friend and when brother Perchance may be gone! Then 'midst our dejection, How sweet to have earned The blest recollection, Of kindness--returned!
When day hath departed, And memory keeps Her watch, broken-hearted, Where all she loved sleeps! Let falsehood assail not, Nor envy disprove-- Let trifles prevail not Against those ye love!
Nor change with to-morrow, Should fortune take wing, But the deeper the sorrow, The closer still cling! Oh! be kind to each other! The night's coming on, When friend and when brother Perchance may be gone.
PRAISE AND PRAYER.
Words by Miss Chandler.
[Music]
Praise for slumbers of the night, For the wakening morning's light, For the board with plenty spread, Gladness o'er the spirit shed; Healthful pulse and cloudless eye, Opening on the smiling sky.
Praise! for loving hearts that still With life's bounding pulses thrill; Praise, that still our own may know-- Earthly joy and earthly woe. Praise for every varied good, Bounteous round our pathway strew'd!
Prayer! for grateful hearts to raise Incense meet of prayer and praise! Prayer, for spirits calm and meek, Wisdom life's best joys to seek; Strength 'midst devious paths to tread-- That through which the Saviour led.
Prayer! for those who, day by day, Weep their bitter life away; Prayer, for those who bind the chain Rudely on their throbbing vein-- That repentance deep may win Pardon for the fearful sin!
THE SLAVE'S LAMENTATION.
A Parody by Tucker. Air, "Long, long ago."
[Music]
Where are the friends that to me were so dear, Long, long ago, long, long ago! Where are the hopes that my heart used to cheer? Long, long ago, long, long ago! Friends that I loved in the grave are laid low, All hope of freedom hath fled from me now. I am degraded, for man was my foe, Long, long ago, long, long ago!
Sadly my wife bowed her beautiful head-- Long, long ago--long ago! Oh, how I wept when I found she was dead! Long, long ago--long ago! She was my angel, my love and my 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!
THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.
Montgomery and Denison. Tune, "Duane Street."
[Music]
A poor wayfaring man of grief, Hath often crossed me on my way, Who sued so humbly for relief, That I could never answer nay; I had not power to ask his name, Whither he went or whence he came; Yet there was something in his eye, Which won my love, I knew not why.
Once, when my scanty meal was spread, He entered--not a word he spake-- Just perishing for want of bread, I gave him all; he blessed it, brake, And ate, but gave me part again: Mine was an angel's portion then, For while I fed with eager haste, The crust was manna to my taste.
'Twas night. The floods were out, it blew A winter hurricane aloof: I heard his voice abroad, and flew To bid him welcome to my roof; I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest, I laid him on my couch to rest: Then made the ground my bed and seemed In Eden's garden while I dreamed.
I saw him bleeding in his chains, And tortured 'neath the driver's lash, His sweat fell fast along the plains, Deep dyed from many a fearful gash: But I in bonds remembered him, And strove to free each fettered limb, As with my tears I washed his blood, Me he baptized with mercy's flood.
I saw him in the negro pew, His head hung low upon his breast, His locks were wet with drops of dew, Gathered while he for entrance pressed Within those aisles, whose courts are given That black and white may reach one heaven; And as I meekly sought his feet, He smiled, and made a throne my seat.
In prison I saw him next condemned To meet a traitor's doom at morn; The tide of lying tongues I stemmed, And honored him midst shame and scorn. My friendship's utmost zeal to try, He asked if I for him would die; The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill, But the free spirit cried, "I will."
Then in a moment to my view, The stranger darted from disguise; The tokens in his hands I knew, My Saviour stood before my eyes! He spoke, and my poor name he named-- "Of me thou hast not been ashamed, These deeds shall thy memorial be; Fear not, thou didst them unto me."
WE'RE FOR FREEDOM THROUGH THE LAND.
Words by J.E. Robinson. Music arranged from the "Old Granite State."
[Music]
We are coming, we are coming! freedom's battle is begun! No hand shall furl her banner ere her victory be won! Our shields are locked for liberty, and mercy goes before: Tyrants tremble in your citadel! oppression shall be o'er. We will vote for Birney, We will vote for Birney, We're for Morris and for Birney, And for Freedom through the land.
We have hatred, dark and deep, for the fetter and the thong; We bring light for prisoned spirits, for the captive's wail a song; We are coming, we are coming! and, "No league with tyrant man," Is emblazoned on our banner, while Jehovah leads the van! We will vote for Birney, We will vote for Birney, We're for Morris and for Birney, And for Freedom through the land!
We are coming, we are coming! but we wield no battle brand: We are armed with truth and justice, with God's charter in our hand, And our voice which swells for freedom--freedom now and ever more-- Shall be heard as ocean's thunder, when they burst upon the shore! We will vote for Birney, We will vote for Birney, We're for Morris and for Birney, And for Freedom through the land.
Be patient, O, be patient! ye suffering ones of earth! Denied a glorious heritage--our common right by birth; With fettered limbs and spirits, your battle shall be won! O be patient--we are coming! suffer on, suffer on! We will vote for Birney, We will vote for Birney, We're for Morris and for Birney, And for Freedom through the land.
We are coming, we are coming! not as comes the tempest's wrath, When the frown of desolation sits brooding o'er its path; But with mercy, such as leaves his holy signet-light upon The air in lambent beauty, when the darkened storm is gone. We will vote for Birney, We will vote for Birney, We're for Morris and for Birney, And for Freedom through the land.
O, be patient in your misery! be mute in your despair! While your chains are grinding deeper, there's a voice upon the air! Ye shall feel its potent echoes, ye shall hear its lovely sound, We are coming! we are coming! bringing freedom to the bound! We will vote for Birney, We will vote for Birney, We're for Morris and for Birney, And for Freedom through the land.
NOTE.--Suggested by a song sung by George W. Clark, at a recent convention in Rochester, N.Y.
WE ARE ALL CHILDREN OF ONE PARENT.
Words from the Youth's Cabinet. Music by L. Mason.
[Music]
Sister, thou art worn and weary, Toiling for another's gain; Life with thee is dark and dreary, Filled with wretchedness and pain, Thou must rise at dawn of light, And thy daily task pursue, Till the darkness of the night Hide thy labors from thy view.
Oft, alas! thou hast to bear Sufferings more than tongue can tell; Thy oppressor will not spare, But delights thy griefs to swell; Oft thy back the scourge has felt, Then to God thou'st raised the cry That the tyrant's heart he'd melt Ere thou should'st in tortures die.
Injured sister, well we know That thy lot in life is hard; Sad thy state of toil and wo, From all blessedness debarred; While each sympathizing heart Pities thy forlorn distress; We would sweet relief impart, And delight thy soul to bless.
And what lies within our power We most cheerfully will do, That will haste the blissful hour Fraught with news of joy to you; And when comes the happy day That shall free our captive friend, When Jehovah's mighty sway Shall to slavery put an end:
Then, dear sister, we with thee Will to heaven direct our voice; Joyfully with voices free We'll in lofty strains rejoice; Gracious God! thy name we'll bless, Hallelujah evermore, Thou hast heard in righteousness, And our sister's griefs are o'er.
Manhood.
BY ROBERT BURNS.
Tune, "Our Warrior's Hearts," page 128.
Is there, for honest poverty, That hangs his head, and a' that; The coward-slave, we pass him by, We dare be poor, for a' that; For a' that and a' that; Our toils obscure, and a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd, for a' that.
What though on homely fare we dine, Wear hodden gray and a' that, Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine, A man's a man for a' that; The honest man tho' e'er so poor, Is king o' men for a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that.
Then let us pray that come it may, As come it will, for a' that, That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that; For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that, That man to man, the world all o'er Shall brothers be, for a' that.
Terms explained:-- _Gowd_--gold. _Hodden_--homespun, or mean. _Gree_--honor, or victory.
The Poor Voter's Song.
Air, "Lucy Long."
They knew that I was poor, And they thought that I was base; They thought that I'd endure To be covered with disgrace; They thought me of their tribe, Who on filthy lucre doat, So they offered me a bribe For my vote, boys! my vote! O shame upon my betters, Who would my conscience buy! But I'll not wear their fetters, Not I, indeed, not I!
My vote? It is not mine To do with as I will; To cast, like pearls, to swine, To these wallowers in ill. It is my country's due, And I'll give it, while I can, To the honest and the true, Like a man, like a man! O shame, &c.
No, no, I'll hold my vote, As a treasure and a trust, My dishonor none shall quote, When I'm mingled with the dust; And my children when I'm gone, Shall be strengthened by the thought, That their father was not one To be bought, to be bought! O shame, &c.
The Flying Slave.
FROM THE BANGOR GAZETTE.
AIR:--"_To Greece we give our shining blades_."
The night is dark, and keen the air, And the Slave is flying to be free; His parting word is one short prayer: Oh God, but give me Liberty! Farewell--farewell: Behind I leave the whips and chains, Before me spreads sweet Freedom's plains.
One star shines in the heavens above That guides him on his lonely way;-- Star of the North--how deep his love For thee, thou star of Liberty! Farewell--farewell: Behind he leaves the whips and chains, Before him spreads sweet Freedom's plains.
For the Election.
TUNE:--'_Scots wha hae with Wallace bled_.'
Ye who know and do the right, Ye who cherish honor bright, Ye who worship love and light, Choose your side to-day. Succor Freedom, now you can, Voting for an honest man; Or you may from Slavery's span, Pick a Polk or Clay.
Boasts your vote no higher aim, Than between two blots of shame That would stain our country's fame, Just to choose the least? Let it sternly answer no! Let it straight for Freedom go; Let it swell the winds that blow From the north and east.
Blot!--the smaller--is a curse Blighting conscience, honor, purse; Give us any, give the worse, 'Twill be less endured. Freemen, is it God who wills You to choose, of foulest ills, That which only latest kills? No; he wills it cured.
Do your duty, He will aid; Dare to vote as you have prayed; Who e'er conquered, while his blade Served his open foes. Right established, would you see? Feel that you yourselves are free; Strike for that which ought to be-- God will bless the blows.
Hail the Day!
AIR:--"_Wreathe the bowl_."
Hail the day Whose joyful ray Speaks of emancipation! The day that broke Oppression's yoke-- The birth-day of a nation!
When England's might Put forth for right, Achieved a fame more glorious Than armies tried, Or navies' pride, O'er land and sea victorious!
Soon may we gain An equal name In honor's estimation! And righteousness Exalt and bless Our glorious happy nation!
Brave hearts shall lend Strong hands to rend Foul slavery's bonds asunder, And liberty Her jubilee Proclaim, in tones of thunder!
We hail afar Fair freedom's star, Her day-star brightly glancing; We hear the tramp From freedom's camp, Assembling and advancing!
No noisy drum Nor murderous gun, No deadly fiends contending; But love and right Their force unite, In peaceful conflict blending.
Fair freedom's host, In joyful boast, Unfolds her banner ample! With Channing's fame, And Whittier's name, And BIRNEY'S bright example!
Come join your hands With freedom's bands, New England's sons and daughters! Speak your decree-- Man shall be free-- As mountains, winds and waters!
And haste the day Whose coming ray Speaks our emancipation! Whose glorious light, Enthroning right, Shall bless and save the nation!
(From the Globe.)
The Ballot.
BY J.E. DOW.
Air, "Bonnie Doon," page 54.
Dread sovereign, thou! the chainless WILL-- Thy source the nation's mighty heart-- The ballot box thy cradle still-- Thou speak'st, and nineteen millions start; Thy subjects, sons of noble sires; Descendants of a patriot band-- Thy lights a million's household fires-- Thy daily walk, my native land.
And shall the safeguard of the free, By valor won on gory plains, Become a solemn mockery While freemen breathe and virtue reigns? Shall liberty be bought and sold By guilty creatures clothed with power? Is HONOR but a name for GOLD, And PRINCIPLE A WITHERED FLOWER?
The parricide's accursed steel Has pierced thy sacred sovereignty; And all who think, and all who feel, Must act or never more be free. No party chains shall bind us here; No mighty name shall turn the blow: Then, wounded sovereignty, appear, And lay the base apostates low.
The wretch, with hands by murder red, May hope for mercy at the last; And he who steals a nation's bread, May have oblivion's statute passed. But he who steals a sacred right, And brings his native land to scorn, Shall die a traitor in her sight, With none to pity or to mourn.
The Spirit of the Pilgrims.
Tune, "Be free, Oh man, be free," page 134.
The spirit of the Pilgrims Is spreading o'er the earth, And millions now point to the land Where Freedom had her birth: Hark! Hear ye not the earnest cry That peals o'er every wave? "God above, In thy love, O liberate the slave!"
Ye heard of trampled Poland, And of her sons in chains, And noble thoughts flashed through your minds And fire flowed through your veins. Then wherefore hear ye not the cry That breaks o'er land and sea?-- "On each plain, Rend the chain, And set the captive free!"
Oh, think ye that our fathers, (That noble patriot band,) Could now look down with kindling joy, And smile upon the land? Or would a trumpet-tone go forth, And ring from shore to shore;-- "All who stand, In this land, Shall be free for evermore!"
Great God, inspire thy children, And make thy creatures just, That every galling chain may fall, And crumble into dust: That not one soul throughout the land Our fathers died to save, May again, By fellow-men, Be branded as a Slave!
What Mean Ye?
TUNE--'_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?
Hymn for Children.
AIR:--"_Miss Lucy Long_."
BY W.S. ABBOTT.
While we are happy here, In joy and peace and love, We'll raise our hearts, with holy fear, To thee, great God, above.
God of our infant hours! The music of our tongues, The worship of our nobler powers, To thee, to thee belongs.
The little, trembling slave Shall feel our sympathy; O God! arise with might to save, And set the captive free.
No parent's holy care Provides for him repose, But oft the hot and briny tear, In sorrow freely flows.
The God of Abraham praise; The curse he will remove; The slave shall welcome happy days, With liberty and love.
Pray without ceasing, pray, Ye saints of God Most High, That all who hail this glorious day, May have their liberty.