The Liberty Minstrel Part 12

STRIKE FOR LIBERTY.

Words from the Christian Freeman. Air, "Scots wha hae."

[Music]

Sons of Freedom's honored sires, Light anew your beacon fires, Fight till every foe retires From your hallowed soil.

Sons of Pilgrim Fathers blest, Pilgrim Mothers gone to rest, Listen to their high behest, Strike for Liberty.

Ministers of G.o.d to men, Heed ye not the nation's sin?

Heaven's blessing can ye win If ye falter now?

Men of blood now ask your vote, O'er your heads their banners float; Raise, Oh raise the warning note, G.o.d and duty call!

Men of justice, bold and brave, To the ballot-box and save Freedom from her opening grave-- Onward! brothers, on!

Christian patriots, tried and true, Freedom's eyes now turn to you; Foes are many--are ye few?

Gideon's G.o.d is yours!

On to Victory.

BY REV. MRS. MARTYN.

Children of the glorious dead, Who for freedom fought and bled, With her banner o'er you spread, On to victory.

Not for stern ambition's prize, Do our hopes and wishes rise; Lo, our leader from the skies, Bids us do or die.

Ours is not the tented field-- We no earthly weapons wield-- Light and love, our sword and shield, Truth our panoply.

This is proud oppression's hour; Storms are round us; shall we cower?

While beneath a despot's power Groans the suffering slave?

While on every southern gale, Comes the helpless captive's tale, And the voice of woman's wail, And of man's despair?

While our homes and rights are dear, Guarded still with watchful fear, Shall we coldly turn our ear From the suppliant's prayer?

Never! by our Country's shame-- Never! by a Saviour's claim, To the men of every name, Whom he died to save.

Onward, then, ye fearless band-- Heart to heart, and hand to hand; Yours shall be the patriot's stand-- Or the martyr's grave.

THE MAN FOR ME.

Parody by J.N.T. Tucker. Air, "The Rose that all are praising."

[Music]

Oh, he is not the man for me, Who buys or sells a slave, Nor he who will not set him free, But sends him to his grave; But he whose n.o.ble heart beats warm For all men's life and liberty; Who loves alike each human form-- Oh that's the man for me, Oh that's the man for me, Oh that's the man for me.

He's not at all the man for me, Who sells a man for gain, Who bends the pliant servile knee, To Slavery's G.o.d of shame!

But he whose G.o.d-like form erect Proclaims that all alike are free To think, and speak, and vote, and act, Oh that's the man for me.

He sure is not the man for me Whose spirit will succ.u.mb, When men endowed with Liberty Lie bleeding, bound and dumb; But he whose faithful words of might Ring through the land from sh.o.r.e to sea, For man's eternal equal right, Oh that's the man for me.

No, no, he's not the man for me Whose voice o'er hill and plain, Breaks forth for glorious liberty, But binds himself, the chain!

The mightiest of the n.o.ble band Who prays and toils the world to free, With head, and heart, and voice, and vote-- Oh that's the man for me.

PILGRIM SONG.

Words by Geo. Lunt. Air "Troubadour."

[Music]

Over the mountain wave See where they come; Storm-cloud and wintry wind Welcome them home; Yet where the sounding gale Howls to the sea, There their song peals along, Deep toned and free.

Pilgrims and wanderers, Hither we come; Where the free dare to be, This is our home.

England hath sunny dales, Dearly they bloom; Scotia hath heather-hills, Sweet their perfume: Yet through the wilderness Cheerful we stray, Native land, native land-- Home far away!

Pilgrims, &c.

Dim grew the forest path, Onward they trod: Firm beat their n.o.ble hearts, Trusting in G.o.d!

Gray men and blooming maids, High rose their song-- Hear it sweep, clear and deep Ever along!

Pilgrims, &c.

Not theirs the glory-wreath, Torn by the blast; Heavenward their holy steps, Heavenward they pa.s.sed!

Green be their mossy graves!

Ours be their fame, While their song peals along, Ever the same!

Pilgrims, &c.

The Bondman.

FROM THE LIBERATOR.

Feebly the bondman toiled, Sadly he wept-- Then to his wretched cot Mournfully crept: How doth his free-born soul Pine 'neath his chain!

Slavery! Slavery!

Dark is thy reign.

Long ere the break of day, Roused from repose, Wearily toiling Till after its close-- Praying for freedom, He spends his last breath: Liberty! Liberty!