Anti-Slavery Poems and Songs of Labor and Reform Part 6

1837.

HYMN

As children of Thy gracious care, We veil the eye, we bend the knee, With broken words of praise and prayer, Father and G.o.d, we come to Thee.

For Thou hast heard, O G.o.d of Right, The sighing of the island slave; And stretched for him the arm of might, Not shortened that it could not save.

The laborer sits beneath his vine, The shackled soul and hand are free; Thanksgiving! for the work is Thine!

Praise! for the blessing is of Thee!

And oh, we feel Thy presence here, Thy awful arm in judgment bare!

Thine eye bath seen the bondman's tear; Thine ear hath heard the bondman's prayer.

Praise! for the pride of man is low, The counsels of the wise are naught, The fountains of repentance flow; What hath our G.o.d in mercy wrought?

HYMN

Written for the celebration of the third anniversary of British emanc.i.p.ation at the Broadway Tabernacle, New York, first of August, 1837.

O HOLY FATHER! just and true Are all Thy works and words and ways, And unto Thee alone are due Thanksgiving and eternal praise!

As children of Thy gracious care, We veil the eye, we bend the knee, With broken words of praise and prayer, Father and G.o.d, we come to Thee.

For Thou hast heard, O G.o.d of Right, The sighing of the island slave; And stretched for him the arm of might, Not shortened that it could not save.

The laborer sits beneath his vine, The shackled soul and hand are free; Thanksgiving! for the work is Thine!

Praise! for the blessing is of Thee!

And oh, we feel Thy presence here, Thy awful arm in judgment bare!

Thine eye hath seen the bondman's tear; Thine ear hath heard the bondman's prayer.

Praise! for the pride of man is low, The counsels of the wise are naught, The fountains of repentance flow; What hath our G.o.d in mercy wrought?

Speed on Thy work, Lord G.o.d of Hosts And when the bondman's chain is riven, And swells from all our guilty coasts The anthem of the free to Heaven, Oh, not to those whom Thou hast led, As with Thy cloud and fire before, But unto Thee, in fear and dread, Be praise and glory evermore.

THE FAREWELL OF A VIRGINIA SLAVE MOTHER TO HER DAUGHTERS SOLD

INTO SOUTHERN BONDAGE.

GONE, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings, Where the noisome insect stings, Where the fever demon strews Poison with the falling dews, Where the sickly sunbeams glare Through the hot and misty air; Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters; Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

There no mother's eye is near them, There no mother's ear can hear them; Never, when the torturing lash Seams their back with many a gash, Shall a mother's kindness bless them, Or a mother's arms caress them.

Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters; Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

Oh, when weary, sad, and slow, From the fields at night they go, Faint with toil, and racked with pain, To their cheerless homes again, There no brother's voice shall greet them; There no father's welcome meet them.

Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters; Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

From the tree whose shadow lay On their childhood's place of play; From the cool spring where they drank; Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank; From the solemn house of prayer, And the holy counsels there; Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters; Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone; Toiling through the weary day, And at night the spoiler's prey.

Oh, that they had earlier died, Sleeping calmly, side by side, Where the tyrant's power is o'er, And the fetter galls no more Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters; Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone.

By the holy love He beareth; By the bruised reed He spareth; Oh, may He, to whom alone All their cruel wrongs are known, Still their hope and refuge prove, With a more than mother's love.

Gone, gone,--sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters; Woe is me, my stolen daughters!

1838.

PENNSYLVANIA HALL.

Read at the dedication of Pennsylvania Hall, Philadelphia, May 15, 1838.

The building was erected by an a.s.sociation of gentlemen, irrespective of sect or party, "that the citizens of Philadelphia should possess a room wherein the principles of Liberty, and Equality of Civil Rights, could be freely discussed, and the evils of slavery fearlessly portrayed." On the evening of the 17th it was burned by a mob, destroying the office of the Pennsylvania Freeman, of which I was editor, and with it my books and papers.

NOT with the splendors of the days of old, The spoil of nations, and barbaric gold; No weapons wrested from the fields of blood, Where dark and stern the unyielding Roman stood, And the proud eagles of his cohorts saw A world, war-wasted, crouching to his law;

Nor blazoned car, nor banners floating gay, Like those which swept along the Appian Way, When, to the welcome of imperial Rome, The victor warrior came in triumph home, And trumpet peal, and shoutings wild and high, Stirred the blue quiet of the Italian sky; But calm and grateful, prayerful and sincere, As Christian freemen only, gathering here, We dedicate our fair and lofty Hall, Pillar and arch, entablature and wall, As Virtue's shrine, as Liberty's abode, Sacred to Freedom, and to Freedom's G.o.d Far statelier Halls, 'neath brighter skies than these, Stood darkly mirrored in the AEgean seas, Pillar and shrine, and life-like statues seen, Graceful and pure, the marble shafts between; Where glorious Athens from her rocky hill Saw Art and Beauty subject to her will; And the chaste temple, and the cla.s.sic grove, The hall of sages, and the bowers of love, Arch, fane, and column, graced the sh.o.r.es, and gave Their shadows to the blue Saronic wave; And statelier rose, on Tiber's winding side, The Pantheon's dome, the Coliseum's pride, The Capitol, whose arches backward flung The deep, clear cadence of the Roman tongue, Whence stern decrees, like words of fate, went forth To the awed nations of a conquered earth, Where the proud Caesars in their glory came, And Brutus lightened from his lips of flame!

Yet in the porches of Athena's halls, And in the shadow of her stately walls, Lurked the sad bondman, and his tears of woe Wet the cold marble with unheeded flow; And fetters clanked beneath the silver dome Of the proud Pantheon of imperious Rome.

Oh, not for hint, the chained and stricken slave, By Tiber's sh.o.r.e, or blue AEgina's wave, In the thronged forum, or the sages' seat, The bold lip pleaded, and the warm heart beat; No soul of sorrow melted at his pain, No tear of pity rusted on his chain!

But this fair Hall to Truth and Freedom given, Pledged to the Right before all Earth and Heaven, A free arena for the strife of mind, To caste, or sect, or color unconfined, Shall thrill with echoes such as ne'er of old From Roman hall or Grecian temple rolled; Thoughts shall find utterance such as never yet The Propylea or the Forum met.

Beneath its roof no gladiator's strife Shall win applauses with the waste of life; No lordly lictor urge the barbarous game, No wanton Lais glory in her shame.

But here the tear of sympathy shall flow, As the ear listens to the tale of woe; Here in stern judgment of the oppressor's wrong Shall strong rebukings thrill on Freedom's tongue, No partial justice hold th' unequal scale, No pride of caste a brother's rights a.s.sail, No tyrant's mandates echo from this wall, Holy to Freedom and the Rights of All!

But a fair field, where mind may close with mind, Free as the sunshine and the chainless wind; Where the high trust is fixed on Truth alone, And bonds and fetters from the soul are thrown; Where wealth, and rank, and worldly pomp, and might, Yield to the presence of the True and Right.

And fitting is it that this Hall should stand Where Pennsylvania's Founder led his band, From thy blue waters, Delaware!--to press The virgin verdure of the wilderness.

Here, where all Europe with amazement saw The soul's high freedom trammelled by no law; Here, where the fierce and warlike forest-men Gathered, in peace, around the home of Penn, Awed by the weapons Love alone had given Drawn from the holy armory of Heaven; Where Nature's voice against the bondman's wrong First found an earnest and indignant tongue; Where Lay's bold message to the proud was borne; And Keith's rebuke, and Franklin's manly scorn!

Fitting it is that here, where Freedom first From her fair feet shook off the Old World's dust, Spread her white pinions to our Western blast, And her free tresses to our sunshine cast, One Hall should rise redeemed from Slavery's ban, One Temple sacred to the Rights of Man!

Oh! if the spirits of the parted come, Visiting angels, to their olden home If the dead fathers of the land look forth From their fair dwellings, to the things of earth, Is it a dream, that with their eyes of love, They gaze now on us from the bowers above?

Lay's ardent soul, and Benezet the mild, Steadfast in faith, yet gentle as a child, Meek-hearted Woolman, and that brother-band, The sorrowing exiles from their "Father land,"

Leaving their homes in Krieshiem's bowers of vine, And the blue beauty of their glorious Rhine, To seek amidst our solemn depths of wood Freedom from man, and holy peace with G.o.d; Who first of all their testimonial gave Against the oppressor, for the outcast slave, Is it a dream that such as these look down, And with their blessing our rejoicings crown?

Let us rejoice, that while the pulpit's door Is barred against the pleaders for the poor; While the Church, wrangling upon points of faith, Forgets her bondmen suffering unto death; While crafty Traffic and the l.u.s.t of Gain Unite to forge Oppression's triple chain, One door is open, and one Temple free, As a resting-place for hunted Liberty!

Where men may speak, unshackled and unawed, High words of Truth, for Freedom and for G.o.d.

And when that truth its perfect work hath done, And rich with blessings o'er our land hath gone; When not a slave beneath his yoke shall pine, From broad Potomac to the far Sabine When unto angel lips at last is given The silver trump of Jubilee in Heaven; And from Virginia's plains, Kentucky's shades, And through the dim Floridian everglades, Rises, to meet that angel-trumpet's sound, The voice of millions from their chains unbound; Then, though this Hall be crumbling in decay, Its strong walls blending with the common clay, Yet, round the ruins of its strength shall stand The best and n.o.blest of a ransomed land-- Pilgrims, like these who throng around the shrine Of Mecca, or of holy Palestine!

A prouder glory shall that ruin own Than that which lingers round the Parthenon.