The Anti-Slavery Harp | Page 9

On parchment, scroll and creed,
With human life blood red,

Untrembling at the deed,
Plant firm your manly tread;
The priest
may howl, the jurist rave,
But we will free the fettered slave.
The tyrant's scorn is vain,
In vain the slanderer's breath,
We'll rush
to break the chain,
E'en on the jaws of death;
Hurrah! Hurrah! right
on go we,
The fettered slave shall yet be free.
Right on, in freedom's name,
And in the strength of God,
Wipe out
the damning stain,
And break the oppressor's rod;
Hurrah! Hurrah!
right on go we,

The fettered slave shall yet be free.
FUGITIVE'S TRIUMPH.

Go, go, thou that enslav'st me,
Now, now thy power is o'er;
Long,
long have I obeyed thee,
I'm not a slave any more;
No, no--oh, no!

I'm a free man ever more!
Thou, thou brought'st me ever,
Deep, deep sorrow and pain;
But I
have left thee forever,
Nor will I serve thee again;
No, no--oh, no!

No, I'll not serve thee again.
Tyrant! thou hast bereft me
Home, friends, pleasures so sweet;
Now,
forever I've left thee,
Thou and I never shall meet;
No, no--oh, no!

Thou and I never shall meet.
Joys, joys, bright as the morning,
Now, now, on me will pour,
Hope,
hope, on me is dawning,
I'm not a slave any more!
No, no--oh, no,

I'm a FREE MAN evermore!
A SONG FOR FREEDOM.
AIR--Dandy Jim.
Come all ye bondmen far and near,
Let's put a song in massa's ear,

It is a song for our poor race,
Who're whipped and trampled with
disgrace.
Chorus.
My old massa tells me O
This is a land of freedom O;

Let's look about and see if't is so,
Just as massa tells me O.
He tells us of that glorious one,
I think his name was Washington,

How he did fight for liberty,
To save a threepence tax on tea.
Chorus.
My old massa, &c.
And then he tells us that there was
A Constitution, with this clause,

That all men equal were created,
How often have we heard it stated.
Chorus.
My old massa, &c.

But now we look about and see,
That we poor blacks are not so free;

We 're whipped and thrashed about like fools,
And have no chance
at common schools.
Chorus.
Still, my old massa, &c.
They take our wives, insult and mock,
And sell our children on the
block,
Then choke us if we say a word,
And say that "niggers"
shan't be heard.
Chorus.
Still, my old massa, &c.
Our preachers, too, with whip and cord,
Command obedience in the
Lord;
They say they learn it from the book,
But for ourselves we
dare not look.
Chorus.
Still, my old massa tells me O,
This is a Christian country
O, &c.
There is a country far away,
Friend Hopper says 't is Canada,
And if
we reach Victoria's shore,
He says that we are slaves no more.
Chorus.
Now hasten all bondmen, let us go
And leave this Christian
country O;
Haste to the land of the British Queen,
Where whips for
negroes are not seen.
Now if we go, we must take the night--
We're sure to die if we come
in sight--
The blood-hounds will be on our track,
And wo to us if
they fetch us back.
Chorus.
Now haste all bondmen, let us go,
And leave this Christian
country O;
God help us to Victoria's shore,
Where we are free and
slaves no more.
FREEDOM'S BANNER.

AIR--Freedom's Banner.
My country, shall thy honored name,
Be as a by-word through the
world?
Rouse! for as if to blast thy fame,
This keen reproach is at
thee hurled;
The banner that above thee waves,
Is floating over
three millions slaves.
That flag, my country, I had thought,
From noble sires was given to
thee,
By the best blood of patriots bought,
To wave alone above the
Free!
Yet now, while to the breeze it waves,
It floats above three
millions slaves,
The mighty dead that flag unrolled,
They bathed it in the heaven's
own blue;
They sprinkled stars upon each fold,
And gave it as a
trust to you;
And now that glorious banner waves
In shame above
three millions slaves.
O, by the virtues of our sires,
And by the soil on which they trod,

And by the trust their name inspires,
And by the hope we have in God,

Arouse, my country, and agree
To set thy captive children free.
Arouse! and let each hill and glen
With prayer to the high heavens
ring out,
Till all our land with freeborn men,
May join in one
triumphant shout,
That freedom's banner does not wave
Its folds
above a single slave.
YOUR BROTHER IS A SLAVE.
O weep, ye friends of Freedom, weep!
Shout liberty no more;
Your
harps to mournful measures sweep,
Till slavery's reign is o'er.
O,
furl your star-lit thing of light--
That banner should not wave

Where, vainly pleading for his right,
Your Brother toils--a Slave!
O pray, ye friends of Freedom, pray
For those who toil in chains,

Who lift their fettered hands to day
On Carolina's plain!
God is the

hope of the Oppressed;
His arm is strong to save;
Pray, then, that
freedom's cause be blest,
Your Brother is a Slave!
O toil, ye friends of Freedom, toil!
Your mission to fulfil,--
That
Freedom's consecrated soil
Slaves may no longer till;
Ay, toil and
pray from deep disgrace
Your native land to save;
Weep o'er the
miseries of your race,
Your