Section 1
Songs
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!
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!
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.
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.
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!
!
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!
!
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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, 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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