Section 5
Songs
There's a good time coming boys,
A good time coming;
There's a good time coming boys,
Wait a little longer.
We may not live to see the day,
But earth shall glisten in the ray
Of the good time coming;
Cannon balls may aid the truth,
But thought's a weapon stronger;
We'll win our battle by its aid,
Wait a little longer.
O, there's a good time, &c.
There's a good time coming boys,
A good time coming;
The pen shall supersede the sword,
And right, not might shall be the lord,
In the good time coming.
Worth, not birth shall rule mankind,
And be acknowledged stronger,
The proper impulse has been given,
Wait a little longer.
O, there's a good time, &c.
There's a good time coming boys,
A good time coming;
Hateful rivalries of creed,
Shall not make their martyrs bleed,
In the good time coming.
Religion shall be shorn of pride,
And flourish all the stronger;
And Charity shall trim her lamp,
Wait a little longer.
O, there's a good time, &c.
There's a good time coming boys,
A good time coming;
War in all men's eyes shall be,
A monster of iniquity,
In the good time coming.
Nations shall not quarrel then,
To prove which is the stronger;
Nor slaughter men for glory's sake,
Wait a little longer.
O, there's a good time, &c.
A good time coming;
There's a good time coming boys,
Wait a little longer.
We may not live to see the day,
But earth shall glisten in the ray
Of the good time coming;
Cannon balls may aid the truth,
But thought's a weapon stronger;
We'll win our battle by its aid,
Wait a little longer.
O, there's a good time, &c.
There's a good time coming boys,
A good time coming;
The pen shall supersede the sword,
And right, not might shall be the lord,
In the good time coming.
Worth, not birth shall rule mankind,
And be acknowledged stronger,
The proper impulse has been given,
Wait a little longer.
O, there's a good time, &c.
There's a good time coming boys,
A good time coming;
Hateful rivalries of creed,
Shall not make their martyrs bleed,
In the good time coming.
Religion shall be shorn of pride,
And flourish all the stronger;
And Charity shall trim her lamp,
Wait a little longer.
O, there's a good time, &c.
There's a good time coming boys,
A good time coming;
War in all men's eyes shall be,
A monster of iniquity,
In the good time coming.
Nations shall not quarrel then,
To prove which is the stronger;
Nor slaughter men for glory's sake,
Wait a little longer.
O, there's a good time, &c.
Written on the occasion of George Latimer's Imprisonment in Levorott street
Jail, Boston.
O, kindle not that bigot fire,
'T will bring disunion, fear and pain;
'T will rouse at last the souther's ire,
And burst our starry land in twain.
Theirs is the high, the noble worth,
The very soul of chivalry;
Rend not our blood-bought land apart,
For such a thing as slavery.
This is the language of the North,
I shame to say it but't is true;
And anti-slavery calls it forth,
From some proud priests and laymen too.
What! bend forsooth to southern rule?
What! cringe and crawl to souther's clay,
And be the base, the supple tool,
Of hell-begotten slavery?
No! never, while the free air plays
O'er our rough hills and sunny fountains,
Shall proud New England's sons be free,
And clank their fetters round her mountains.
Go if ye will and grind in dust,
Dark Afric's poor, degraded child;
Wring from his sinews gold accursed,
And boast your gospel warm and mild.
While on our mountain tops the pine
In freedom her green branches wave,
Her sons shall never stoop to bind
The galling shackle of the slave.
Ye dare demand with haughty tone,
For us to pander to your shame,
To give our brother up alone,
To feel the lash and wear the chain.
Our brother never shall go back,
When once he presses our free shore;
Though souther's power with hell to back,
Comes thundering at our northern door.
No! rather be our starry land,
Into a thousand fragments riven;
Upon our own free hills we'll stand,
And pour upon the breeze of heaven,
A curse so loud, so stern, so deep,
Shall start ye in your guilty sleep.
Jail, Boston.
O, kindle not that bigot fire,
'T will bring disunion, fear and pain;
'T will rouse at last the souther's ire,
And burst our starry land in twain.
Theirs is the high, the noble worth,
The very soul of chivalry;
Rend not our blood-bought land apart,
For such a thing as slavery.
This is the language of the North,
I shame to say it but't is true;
And anti-slavery calls it forth,
From some proud priests and laymen too.
What! bend forsooth to southern rule?
What! cringe and crawl to souther's clay,
And be the base, the supple tool,
Of hell-begotten slavery?
No! never, while the free air plays
O'er our rough hills and sunny fountains,
Shall proud New England's sons be free,
And clank their fetters round her mountains.
Go if ye will and grind in dust,
Dark Afric's poor, degraded child;
Wring from his sinews gold accursed,
And boast your gospel warm and mild.
While on our mountain tops the pine
In freedom her green branches wave,
Her sons shall never stoop to bind
The galling shackle of the slave.
Ye dare demand with haughty tone,
For us to pander to your shame,
To give our brother up alone,
To feel the lash and wear the chain.
Our brother never shall go back,
When once he presses our free shore;
Though souther's power with hell to back,
Comes thundering at our northern door.
No! rather be our starry land,
Into a thousand fragments riven;
Upon our own free hills we'll stand,
And pour upon the breeze of heaven,
A curse so loud, so stern, so deep,
Shall start ye in your guilty sleep.
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.
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.
AIR—Martyn.
Men! whose boast it is that ye
Come of fathers brave and free;
If there breathe on earth a slave,
Are ye truly free and brave?
Are ye not base slaves indeed,
Men unworthy to be freed,
If ye do not feel the chain,
When it works a brother's pain?
Women! who shall one day bear
Sons to breathe God's bounteous air,
If ye hear without a blush,
Deeds to make the roused blood rush
Like red lava through your veins,
For your sisters now in chains;
Answer! are ye fit to be
Mothers of the brave and free?
Is true freedom but to break
Fetters for our own dear sake,
And, with leathern hearts forget
That we owe mankind a debt?
No! true freedom is to share
All the chains our brothers wear,
And with hand and heart to be
Earnest to make others free.
They are slaves who fear to speak
For the fallen and the weak;
They are slaves, who will not choose
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse,
Rather than, in silence, shrink
From the truth they needs must think;
They are slaves, who dare not be
In the right with two or three.
Men! whose boast it is that ye
Come of fathers brave and free;
If there breathe on earth a slave,
Are ye truly free and brave?
Are ye not base slaves indeed,
Men unworthy to be freed,
If ye do not feel the chain,
When it works a brother's pain?
Women! who shall one day bear
Sons to breathe God's bounteous air,
If ye hear without a blush,
Deeds to make the roused blood rush
Like red lava through your veins,
For your sisters now in chains;
Answer! are ye fit to be
Mothers of the brave and free?
Is true freedom but to break
Fetters for our own dear sake,
And, with leathern hearts forget
That we owe mankind a debt?
No! true freedom is to share
All the chains our brothers wear,
And with hand and heart to be
Earnest to make others free.
They are slaves who fear to speak
For the fallen and the weak;
They are slaves, who will not choose
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse,
Rather than, in silence, shrink
From the truth they needs must think;
They are slaves, who dare not be
In the right with two or three.
AIR—Crambambule.
Let waiting throngs now lift their voices,
As Freedom's glorious day draws near,
While every gentle tongue rejoices,
And each bold heart is filled with cheer;
The slave has seen the Northern star,
He'll soon be free, hurrah, hurrah!
Though many still are writhing under
The cruel whips of "chevaliers,"
Who mothers from their children sunder,
And scourge them for their helpless tears--
Their safe deliverance is not far!
The day draws nigh!—hurrah, hurrah!
Just ere the dawn the darkness deepest
Surrounds the earth as with a pall;
Dry up thy tears, O thou that weepest,
That on thy sight the rays may fall!
No doubt let now thy bosom mar;
Send up the shout—hurrah, hurrah!
Shall we distrust the God of Heaven?--
He every doubt and fear will quell;
By him the captive's chains are riven--
So let us loud the chorus swell!
Man shall be free from cruel law,--
Man shall be MAN!—hurrah, hurrah!
No more again shall it be granted
To southern overseers to rule--
No more will pilgrims' sons be taunted
With cringing low in slavery's school.
So clear the way for Freedom's car--
The free shall rule!—hurrah, hurrah!
Send up the shout Emancipation--
From heaven let the echoes bound--
Soon will it bless this franchised nation,
Come raise again the stirring sound!
Emancipation near and far--
Swell up the shout—hurrah! hurrah!
Let waiting throngs now lift their voices,
As Freedom's glorious day draws near,
While every gentle tongue rejoices,
And each bold heart is filled with cheer;
The slave has seen the Northern star,
He'll soon be free, hurrah, hurrah!
Though many still are writhing under
The cruel whips of "chevaliers,"
Who mothers from their children sunder,
And scourge them for their helpless tears--
Their safe deliverance is not far!
The day draws nigh!—hurrah, hurrah!
Just ere the dawn the darkness deepest
Surrounds the earth as with a pall;
Dry up thy tears, O thou that weepest,
That on thy sight the rays may fall!
No doubt let now thy bosom mar;
Send up the shout—hurrah, hurrah!
Shall we distrust the God of Heaven?--
He every doubt and fear will quell;
By him the captive's chains are riven--
So let us loud the chorus swell!
Man shall be free from cruel law,--
Man shall be MAN!—hurrah, hurrah!
No more again shall it be granted
To southern overseers to rule--
No more will pilgrims' sons be taunted
With cringing low in slavery's school.
So clear the way for Freedom's car--
The free shall rule!—hurrah, hurrah!
Send up the shout Emancipation--
From heaven let the echoes bound--
Soon will it bless this franchised nation,
Come raise again the stirring sound!
Emancipation near and far--
Swell up the shout—hurrah! hurrah!
AIR—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?
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?
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.
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 slumbers, long and deep;
And the church of God is 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.
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.
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 slumbers, long and deep;
And the church of God is 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.
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;
O 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.
The night is dark, and keen the air,
And the Slave is flying to be free;
His parting word is one short prayer;
O 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.
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