Part 9 (2/2)

Shall tongues be mute, when deeds are wrought Which well might shame extremest h.e.l.l?

Shall freemen lock th' indignant thought?

Shall Mercy's bosom cease to swell?

Shall Honor bleed?--Shall Truth succ.u.mb?

Shall pen, and press, and soul be dumb?

No--by each spot of haunted ground, Where Freedom weeps her children's fall-- By Plymouth's rock--and Bunker's mound-- By Griswold's stained and shattered wall-- By Warren's ghost--by Langdon's shade-- By all the memories of our dead!

By their enlarging souls, which burst The bands and fetters round them set-- By the free Pilgrim spirit nursed Within our inmost bosoms, yet,-- By all above--around--below-- Be ours the indignant answer--no!

No--guided by our country's laws, For truth, and right, and suffering man, Be ours to strive in Freedom's cause, As Christians may--as freemen can!

Still pouring on unwilling ears That truth oppression only fears.

TO THOSE I LOVE.

Words by Miss E.M. Chandler. Music from an old air by G.W.C.

[Music]

Oh, turn ye not displeased away, though I should sometimes seem Too much to press upon your ear, an oft repeated theme; The story of the negro's wrongs is heavy at my heart, And can I choose but wish from you a sympathizing part?

I turn to you to share my joy,--to soothe me in my grief-- In wayward sadness from your smiles, I seek a sweet relief: And shall I keep this burning wish to see the slave set free, Locked darkly in my secret heart, unshared and silently?

If I had been a friendless thing--if I had never known, How swell the fountains of the heart beneath affection's tone, I might have, careless, seen the leaf torn rudely from its stem, But clinging as I do to you, can I but feel for them?

I could not brook to list the sad sweet music of a bird, Though it were sweeter melody than ever ear hath heard, If cruel hands had quenched its light, that in the plaintive song, It might the breathing memory of other days prolong.

And can I give my lip to taste the life-bought luxuries, wrung From those on whom a darker night of anguish has been flung-- Or silently and selfishly enjoy my better lot, While those whom G.o.d hath bade me love, are wretched and forgot?

Oh no!--so blame me not, sweet friends, though I should sometimes seem Too much to press upon your ear an oft repeated theme; The story of the negro's wrongs hath won me from my rest,-- And I must strive to wake for him an interest in your breast!

WE'RE COMING! WE'RE COMING!

Air, ”Kinloch of Kinloch.”

[Music]

We're coming, we're coming, the fearless and free, Like the winds of the desert, the waves of the sea!

True sons of brave sires who battled of yore, When England's proud lion ran wild on our sh.o.r.e!

We're coming, we're coming, from mountain and glen, With hearts to do battle for freedom again; Oppression is trembling as trembled before, The Slavery which fled from our fathers of yore.

We're coming, we're coming, with banners unfurled, Our motto is FREEDOM, our country the world; Our watchword is LIBERTY--tyrants beware!

For the liberty army will bring you despair!

We're coming, we're coming, we'll come from afar, Our standard we'll nail to humanity's car; With shoutings we'll raise it, in triumph to wave, A trophy of conquest, or shroud for the brave.

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