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Morning Glories :

Second Edition :
  
  
  
  
  

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IN MEMORY OF THE HON. FREDERICK DOUGLASS, THE SAGE OF ANACOSTIA.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

IN MEMORY OF THE HON. FREDERICK DOUGLASS, THE SAGE OF ANACOSTIA.

At last, at last the sage of Anacostia is at rest,
And eager throngs have passed beside his bier,
To gaze with sorrow in each throbbing breast,
And to his noble memory drop a tear.
At rest, ah yes, from years of weary toil,
Of restless seeking for a freeman's boon,
The offspring of Columbia's boasted soil,
Yields to that lot which cometh late or soon.
The sunshine of his youth by clouds was dim,
Laid in the lowly cradle of a slave,
The land of Liberty denied to him,
Which bounty to her other sons she gave.
When to the years of manhood he attained,
He gazed in terror on his fettered hands,
And e'en the thought of serfdom he disdained,
And sought for freedom though in foreign lands.
Ambition swelled his bosom with its fire,
A specimen of manhood noble, true,
To lofty heights his zeal did e'er aspire,
He chose the path of honor to pursue.

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In all his native land no single spot,
No mount nor vale to which he might retire,
And claim his breath his own, O, cursed lot,
His love for freedom fed his great desire.
And when at last he found he could endure,
No more the oppressing yoks of slavery's bond,
Resolved on flight to England's welcome shore,
The ocean braved to reach that land beyond.
And liberty aroused the dormant strength,
Pent in the mind and bosom of the slave,
His silvery voice and tongue were free at length,
He now possessed the burthen of his crave.
And to the world the bitter story told,
While millions hung upon his words that burned,
How human flesh by men was bought and sold,
He fled because a bondsman's lot he spurned.
He saw at last his native land engaged
In civil strife and seas of human blood,
Poured out on soil where wild the conflict raged,
And slavery sink beneath the gory flood.
Scarce had been cleared the field of death and smoke,
Ere rang his eloquence both loud and clear,
The shattered manacle and cruel yoke,
Aside were cast for liberty so dear.
So to the lofty apex of renown,
In foreign land or native land of birth,
He wore with dignity the hero's crown,
Deserved emblem of a hero's worth.
A life unselfish now has reached its close,
It's latest effort in defense of right,
Now finds a peaceful and well-won repose,
In realms of bliss and everlasting light.