Part 4
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.