Part 6
Thy country, in her darkest hour, When heroes bend at Mammon's shrine, And virtue sells herself to Power, Lights up in smiles at deeds like thine! Then welcome to the battle's van-- We _hail_ thee as an HONEST MAN!
Thy own example leads the way From Egypt's gloom to Canaan's light; Thy justice is the breaking day Of Slavery's long and guilty night; Then welcome to the battle's van-- We hail thee as an honest man.
Thine is the eagle eye to see, And thine a human heart to feel; A worthy leader of the free, We'll trust thee with a Nation's weal; We'll trust thee in the battle's van-- We _hail_ thee as an honest man.
An _honest man_--an _honest man_-- God made thee on his noblest plan, To do the right and brave the scorn; To stand in Freedom's "hope forlorn;" Then welcome to the triumph's van-- WE HAIL THEE AS OUR CHOSEN MAN!
A TRIBUTE TO DEPARTED WORTH.[5]
[Footnote 5: As sung by G.W.C. at the erection of the monument to the memory of Myron Holley, Mount Hope, Rochester. It may be sung as a Dirge.]
[Music]
Oh, it is not the tear at this moment shed, When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, That can tell how beloved was the soul that's fled, Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him: 'Tis the tear through many a long day wept, Through a life by his loss all shaded, 'Tis the sad remembrance fondly kept, When all other griefs have faded.
Oh! thus shall we mourn, and his memory's light While it shines through our hearts will improve them; For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright, When we think how he lived but to love them. And as buried saints the grave perfume, Where fadeless they've long been lying;-- So our hearts shall borrow a sweetening bloom From the image he left there in dying.
THE LIBERTY VOTER'S SONG.
Words by E. Wright, jr. Air, from "Niel Gow's Farewell."
[Music]
The vote, the vote, the mighty vote, Though once we used a humbler note, And prayed our servants to be just, We tell the now they must, they must.
Chorus.
The tyrant's grapple, by our vote, We'll loosen from our brother's throat, With Washington we here agree, The vote's the weapon of the free.
We'll scatter not the precious power On parties that to slavery cower; But make it one against the wrong, Till down it comes, a million strong. The tyrant's grapple, &c.
We'll bake the dough-face with our vote, Who stood the scorching when we wrote; And paler than the milky way, We'll bake the plastic face of CLAY. The tyrant's grapple, &c.
Our vote shall teach all statesmen law, Who in the Southern harness draw; So well contented to be slaves, They fain would prove their fathers knaves! The tyrant's grapple, &c.
We'll not provoke our wives to use A power that we through fear abuse; His mother shall not blush to own One voter of us for a son. The tyrant's grapple, by our vote, We'll loosen from our brother's throat; With Washington we here agree, Whose MOTHER taught him to be free!
THE LIBERTY BALL.
G.W.C. Air, "Rosin the Bow."
[Music]
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-- 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 CLAY and _John Tyler_! And boldly step into our ranks; We'll spread our pure banner still wider, And 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, &c.
How can you stand halting while virtue Is sweetly appealing to all; Then haste to the standard of duty, And roll on the liberty ball; And roll on the liberty ball, &c.
The question of test is now turning, And freedom or slavery must fall, While hope in the bosom is burning, We'll roll on the liberty ball; We'll roll on the liberty ball, &c.
Ye freemen attend to your voting, Your ballots will answer the call; And while others attend to _log-rolling_, We'll roll on the liberty ball-- We'll roll on the liberty ball, &c.
The Trumpet of Freedom.
HARK! hark! to the TRUMPET of FREEDOM! Her rallying signal she blows: Come, gather around her broad banner, And battle 'gainst Liberty's foes.
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.