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 | Poems, Original & Selected |  |
THE CHRISTIAN'S HOPE.
Hail! sweetest, dearest tie, that binds
Our glowing hearts in one,
Hail! sacred hope, that tunes our minds
To harmony divine:
It is the hope, the blissful hope,
Our glowing hearts in one,
Hail! sacred hope, that tunes our minds
To harmony divine:
It is the hope, the blissful hope,
Which Jesus' grace has given,
The hope when days and years are past,
We all shall meet in heaven.
The hope when days and years are past,
We all shall meet in heaven.
Chorus—
We all shall meet in heaven at last,
We all shall meet in heaven,
The hope when days and years are past,
We all shall meet in heaven.
We all shall meet in heaven,
The hope when days and years are past,
We all shall meet in heaven.
What though the northern wintry blast
Shall howl around my cot!
What though beneath an eastern sun
Be cast our distant lot!
Yet still we share the blissful hope
Shall howl around my cot!
What though beneath an eastern sun
Be cast our distant lot!
Yet still we share the blissful hope
Which, &c.
From Burmah's shores, from Afric's sand,
From India's burning plain,
From Europe, from Columbia's land,
We hope to meet again.
This is the hope, the blissful hope,
From India's burning plain,
From Europe, from Columbia's land,
We hope to meet again.
This is the hope, the blissful hope,
Which, &c.
No lingering look, no parting sigh,
Our future meeting knows;
There friendship beams from every eye,
And love immortal grows.
O sacred hope! O blissful hope!
Our future meeting knows;
There friendship beams from every eye,
And love immortal grows.
O sacred hope! O blissful hope!
Which, &c.
1
THE SLAVE.
Wide o'er the tremulous sea
The moon spread her mantle of light,
And the gale gently dying away
Breathed soft on the bosom of night.
The moon spread her mantle of light,
And the gale gently dying away
Breathed soft on the bosom of night.
On the forecastle Maratan stood,
And pour'd forth his sorrowful tale;
His tears fell unseen in the flood,
His sighs died unheard on the gale.
And pour'd forth his sorrowful tale;
His tears fell unseen in the flood,
His sighs died unheard on the gale.
“Oh, wretch!” in wild anguish he cried,
“From country and liberty torn.
Oh, Maratan, would thou hadst died,
Ere o'er the salt waves thou wert borne.
“From country and liberty torn.
Oh, Maratan, would thou hadst died,
Ere o'er the salt waves thou wert borne.
Thro' the groves of Angola I strayed,
Love and hope made my bosom their home,
Then I talk'd with my favourite maid,
Nor dreamt of the sorrow to come.
Love and hope made my bosom their home,
Then I talk'd with my favourite maid,
Nor dreamt of the sorrow to come.
2
From the thicket the man-hunter sprung,
My cries echoed loud through the air;
There was fury and wrath on his tongue:
He was deaf to the voice of despair.
My cries echoed loud through the air;
There was fury and wrath on his tongue:
He was deaf to the voice of despair.
Flow, ye tears, down my cheeks ever flow,
Still let sleep from my eyelids depart,
And still may the arrows of woe
Drink deep from the stream of my heart.
Still let sleep from my eyelids depart,
And still may the arrows of woe
Drink deep from the stream of my heart.
But hark! o'er the silence of night
My Adela's accents I hear!
And mournful beneath the wan light,
I see her loved image appear.
My Adela's accents I hear!
And mournful beneath the wan light,
I see her loved image appear.
Slow o'er the smooth ocean she glides
As the mist that hangs light on the wave,
And fondly her partner she chides,
Who lingers so long from his grave.
As the mist that hangs light on the wave,
And fondly her partner she chides,
Who lingers so long from his grave.
‘Oh, Maratan, haste thee,’ she cries,
‘Here the reign of oppression is o'er;
The robber is robbed of his prize,
And Adela sorrows no more.
‘Here the reign of oppression is o'er;
The robber is robbed of his prize,
And Adela sorrows no more.
Now sinking amidst the dim ray,
Her form seems to sink from my view—
Oh stay thee, my Adela, stay—
She beckons, and I must pursue.
Her form seems to sink from my view—
Oh stay thee, my Adela, stay—
She beckons, and I must pursue.
To-morrow the white man in vain
Shall proudly account me his slave,
My shackles I plunge in the main,
And rush to the realms of the brave.”
Shall proudly account me his slave,
My shackles I plunge in the main,
And rush to the realms of the brave.”
3
THE BLIND SLAVE BOY.
Come back to me, mother, why linger away
From thy poor blind boy the long weary day.
I mark every footstep, I list to each tone,
And wonder my mother should leave me alone.
There are voices of sorrow and voices of glee,
But there's no one to joy or sorrow with me,
For each has of pleasure and trouble his share,
And none for the poor little blind boy will care.
From thy poor blind boy the long weary day.
I mark every footstep, I list to each tone,
And wonder my mother should leave me alone.
There are voices of sorrow and voices of glee,
But there's no one to joy or sorrow with me,
For each has of pleasure and trouble his share,
And none for the poor little blind boy will care.
My mother, come back to me, close to thy breast
Once more let the little blind one be press'd;
Once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek,
And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak.
Oh, mother, I've no one to love me—no heart
Can bear like thy own in my sorrow a part;
No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind,
Oh none like a mother can cherish the blind.
Once more let the little blind one be press'd;
Once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek,
And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak.
Oh, mother, I've no one to love me—no heart
Can bear like thy own in my sorrow a part;
No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind,
Oh none like a mother can cherish the blind.
Poor blind one, no mother thy wailing can hear,
No mother can hasten to banish thy fear,
For the slave owner drives her o'er mountain and wild,
And for one paltry dollar hath sold the poor child.
Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal
The anguish that none but a mother can feel,
When man in his vile lust, Mammon hath trod
On her child who is stricken and smitten of God.
No mother can hasten to banish thy fear,
For the slave owner drives her o'er mountain and wild,
And for one paltry dollar hath sold the poor child.
Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal
The anguish that none but a mother can feel,
When man in his vile lust, Mammon hath trod
On her child who is stricken and smitten of God.
Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone,
She hears in anguish his piteous moan,
As he eagerly listens, he listens in vain.
To catch the loved tones of his mother again:
The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall
On the wretch who hath mingled his wormwood with gall:
And his gains like a mildew shall blight and destroy
Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy.
She hears in anguish his piteous moan,
As he eagerly listens, he listens in vain.
To catch the loved tones of his mother again:
The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall
On the wretch who hath mingled his wormwood with gall:
And his gains like a mildew shall blight and destroy
Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy.
4
THE FUGITIVE'S TRIUMPH.
Go, go, thou that enslavest me,
Now, now thy power is o'er,
Long, long have I obeyed thee,
But I'm thy slave no more.
No, no,—oh no,
I am a free man ever more.
Now, now thy power is o'er,
Long, long have I obeyed thee,
But I'm thy slave no more.
No, no,—oh no,
I am a free man ever more.
Thou, thou broughtest ever,
Deep, deep sorrow and pain;
But I have left thee for ever,
Nor will I serve again.
No, no,—oh no,
No, I'll not serve thee again.
Deep, deep sorrow and pain;
But I have left thee for ever,
Nor will I serve again.
No, no,—oh no,
No, I'll not serve thee again.
Tyrant, thou hast bereft me,
Home, friends, pleasure so sweet;
Now for ever I've left thee,
Thou and I never shall meet.
No, no,—oh no,
Thou and I never shall meet.
Home, friends, pleasure so sweet;
Now for ever I've left thee,
Thou and I never shall meet.
No, no,—oh no,
Thou and I never shall meet.
RESCUE THE SLAVE.
[_]
This song was composed while George Latimer, the Fugitive Slave, was confined in Leverett-street Jail, Boston, expecting to be carried back to Virginia, by James B. Gray, his claimant.
Sadly the fugitive weeps in his cell,
Listen awhile to the tale we tell;
Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave,
Lady fair, lady fair, weep for the slave.
Listen awhile to the tale we tell;
Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave,
Lady fair, lady fair, weep for the slave.
5
Praying for liberty dearer than life,
Torn from his little ones, torn from his wife;
Flying from slavery, hear him and save,
Christian men, Christian men, help the poor slave.
Torn from his little ones, torn from his wife;
Flying from slavery, hear him and save,
Christian men, Christian men, help the poor slave.
Think of his agony, think of his pain,
Should his hard master e'er hold him again.
Spirit of liberty! rise from your grave,
Make him free, make him free, rescue the slave.
Should his hard master e'er hold him again.
Spirit of liberty! rise from your grave,
Make him free, make him free, rescue the slave.
Freely the slave master goes where he will,
Freemen stand ready his wish to fulfil,
Helping the tyrant, the honest, or knave,
Thinking not, caring not, for the poor slave.
Freemen stand ready his wish to fulfil,
Helping the tyrant, the honest, or knave,
Thinking not, caring not, for the poor slave.
Talk not of liberty!—liberty's dead,
See the slave master's whip over our head;
Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves,
Boston boys, Boston boys, catch me my slaves.
See the slave master's whip over our head;
Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves,
Boston boys, Boston boys, catch me my slaves.
Freemen, arouse ye before 'tis too late,
Slavery is knocking at every gate!
Making good the promise your early days gave,
Boston boys, Boston boys, catch not the slave.
Slavery is knocking at every gate!
Making good the promise your early days gave,
Boston boys, Boston boys, catch not the slave.
6
A HYMN.
[Should old acquaintance be forgot]
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
No, brethren, no, true friendship's knot
Time never can unbind.
And never brought to mind?
No, brethren, no, true friendship's knot
Time never can unbind.
Dear friends
Thus join'd in spirit, hand in hand,
Still let us walk below,
Like Wesley's first delightful band,
A hundred years ago.
Still let us walk below,
Like Wesley's first delightful band,
A hundred years ago.
Chorus.
And when the source of this bright grace,
Requires this fleeting breath,
True friendship then shall find a place
Beyond the reach of death.
Requires this fleeting breath,
True friendship then shall find a place
Beyond the reach of death.
Chorus.
SLAVE'S ESCAPE TO CANADA.
I'm on my way to Canada,
That cold and dreary land;
The dire effects of slavery
I can no longer stand.
My heart is pained within me sore,
To think that I'm a slave,
I'm now resolved to strike the blow
For freedom or the grave.
That cold and dreary land;
The dire effects of slavery
I can no longer stand.
My heart is pained within me sore,
To think that I'm a slave,
I'm now resolved to strike the blow
For freedom or the grave.
Chorus
O righteous father, pity me,And help me on to Canada, where coloured men are free.
7
I heard good Queen Victoria say
If we would all forsake
Our native land of slavery,
And come across the lake,
That she was standing on the shore,
With her arms extended wide,
To give us all a peaceful home
Beyond the rolling tide.
If we would all forsake
Our native land of slavery,
And come across the lake,
That she was standing on the shore,
With her arms extended wide,
To give us all a peaceful home
Beyond the rolling tide.
Oh, righteous father, pity me,
And help me on to Canada, where coloured men are free.
And help me on to Canada, where coloured men are free.
Weep not, wife, weep not for me,
Oh do not break my heart,
For nought but cruel slavery
Would force me to depart.
If I should stay to quell your grief,
Your grief I should augment,
For no one knows, the day that we
Asunder should be sent.
Oh do not break my heart,
For nought but cruel slavery
Would force me to depart.
If I should stay to quell your grief,
Your grief I should augment,
For no one knows, the day that we
Asunder should be sent.
Oh, Eliza, don't grieve after me,
I'm going up to Canada, where coloured men are free,
I'm going up to Canada, where coloured men are free,
I'm just in sight of yonder shore,
Where man's a man by law,
The vessel soon will bear me o'er
To shake the Lion's paw.
I'll no more dread the auctioneer,
Nor fear the master's frown;
And no more tremble when I hear,
The baying negro hounds.
Where man's a man by law,
The vessel soon will bear me o'er
To shake the Lion's paw.
I'll no more dread the auctioneer,
Nor fear the master's frown;
And no more tremble when I hear,
The baying negro hounds.
Oh, righteous father, pity me,
And help me on to Canada, where coloured men are free.
And help me on to Canada, where coloured men are free.
8
And now I'm landed on her shore,
Both soul and body free,
My blood, and brains, and tears no more
Will drench old Tennesse.
But I behold the scalding tear
Arising in mine eye,
To think my wife, my only dear,
A slave must live and die.
Both soul and body free,
My blood, and brains, and tears no more
Will drench old Tennesse.
But I behold the scalding tear
Arising in mine eye,
To think my wife, my only dear,
A slave must live and die.
Oh, Eliza, don't grieve after me,
For ever at the throne of grace I will remember thee.
For ever at the throne of grace I will remember thee.
LINES addressed to Mr. JAMES WATKINS, the Fugitive Slave.
Welcome stranger! welcome stranger,
To this land of liberty!
Welcome from thy recent danger,
We will lend our aid to thee.
To this land of liberty!
Welcome from thy recent danger,
We will lend our aid to thee.
Welcome! from those sunny plains,
From the throng, and cruel mart,
From the lash and heavy chains,
Scenes that e'en would rend the heart.
From the throng, and cruel mart,
From the lash and heavy chains,
Scenes that e'en would rend the heart.
Welcome! from those scenes of sadness:
Weep not for the sad “farewell,”
Breath'd to those thou left in sadness:
Come! in Freedom's land to dwell.
Weep not for the sad “farewell,”
Breath'd to those thou left in sadness:
Come! in Freedom's land to dwell.
Welcome! let not mere reflection
Rend thy heart, nor cause a tear;
Pray for those of tried affection,
Firm throughout each fleeting year.
Rend thy heart, nor cause a tear;
Pray for those of tried affection,
Firm throughout each fleeting year.
9
What though thou on earth may'st never
More embrace those ever dear?
Tho' compell'd from them to sever,
Live in faith,—dispel all fear.
More embrace those ever dear?
Tho' compell'd from them to sever,
Live in faith,—dispel all fear.
There's a home, if they believe in
Him who brought thee to our shore:
Where, if cleans'd from all their sin,
They shall dwell for evermore!
Him who brought thee to our shore:
Where, if cleans'd from all their sin,
They shall dwell for evermore!
Thomas Holland. Over Lane, Windsford, Cheshire, Feb. 27, 1856.
THE POOR SLAVE'S JOY.
Here poor slaves have grief and pain;
Here we meet to part again:
In Heaven we part no more.
O! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
O! that will be joyful,
When bondage is no more.
Here we meet to part again:
In Heaven we part no more.
O! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
O! that will be joyful,
When bondage is no more.
All who love the Lord below,
When they die to Heaven will go,
And sing with saints above.
O! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
O! that will be joyful,
Where slavery is no more.
When they die to Heaven will go,
And sing with saints above.
O! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
O! that will be joyful,
Where slavery is no more.
10
Little children will be there,
Who have sought the Lord in prayer,
From the bright sunny South.
Oh! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
Oh! that will be joyful,
Where women are sold no more.
Who have sought the Lord in prayer,
From the bright sunny South.
Oh! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
Oh! that will be joyful,
Where women are sold no more.
Teachers, too, shall meet above,
Pastors, parents, whom we love,
Shall meet to part no more.
Oh! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
O! that will be joyful,
Where children are sold no more.
Pastors, parents, whom we love,
Shall meet to part no more.
Oh! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
O! that will be joyful,
Where children are sold no more.
O! happy we shall be,
For our Saviour we shall see,
Exalted on his throne.
O! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
O! that will be joyful,
Where woman is sold no more.
For our Saviour we shall see,
Exalted on his throne.
O! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful,
O! that will be joyful,
Where woman is sold no more.
11
THE SLAVE'S HOME.
I am a stranger here,
Heaven is my home:
From slavery when I'm clear,
Heaven is my home.
Masters and bloodhounds stand
Round me on every hand,
Heaven is my father-land,
Heaven is my home.
Heaven is my home:
From slavery when I'm clear,
Heaven is my home.
Masters and bloodhounds stand
Round me on every hand,
Heaven is my father-land,
Heaven is my home.
What though slaveholders rage?
Heaven is my home:
Short is my pilgrimage,
Heaven is my home:
And slavery's cursed blast
Soon will be overpast;
I shall reach home at last:
Heaven is my home.
Heaven is my home:
Short is my pilgrimage,
Heaven is my home:
And slavery's cursed blast
Soon will be overpast;
I shall reach home at last:
Heaven is my home.
Therefore I murmur not;
Heaven is my home;
Whate'er my earthly lot,
Heaven is my home:
There bond and free shall stand
There at my Lord's right hand;
There shall the poor Slave stand;
Heaven is my home.
Heaven is my home;
Whate'er my earthly lot,
Heaven is my home:
There bond and free shall stand
There at my Lord's right hand;
There shall the poor Slave stand;
Heaven is my home.
14
HYMN.
[Shall Simon bear his cross alone]
Shall Simon bear his cross alone
And all the rest go free?
There is a crown for every one,
And there's a crown for me.
And all the rest go free?
There is a crown for every one,
And there's a crown for me.
When I can see my title clear
To mansions in the skies
I'll bid farewell to every fear,
And wipe my weeping eyes.
To mansions in the skies
I'll bid farewell to every fear,
And wipe my weeping eyes.
Are there no foes for me to face?
Must I not stand the flood?
No: this vain world's no friend to grace,
To help us on to God.
Must I not stand the flood?
No: this vain world's no friend to grace,
To help us on to God.
Should earth against my soul engage,
And fiery darts be hurled,
Then I can smile at Satan's rage,
And face a frowning world.
And fiery darts be hurled,
Then I can smile at Satan's rage,
And face a frowning world.
15
SONG OF THE COFFEE GANG.
See those souls from Africa,
Transported to America;
We are stolen and sold to Georgia,
Will you go along with me.
We are stolen and sold to George,
Go sound the jubilee.
Transported to America;
We are stolen and sold to Georgia,
Will you go along with me.
We are stolen and sold to George,
Go sound the jubilee.
See wives and husbands sold apart,
The children's scream, it breaks my heart;
There's a better day a coming,
Will you go along with me,
There's a better day a coming
Go sound the jubilee.
The children's scream, it breaks my heart;
There's a better day a coming,
Will you go along with me,
There's a better day a coming
Go sound the jubilee.
Oh! gracious Lord, when shall it be
That we poor souls shall all be free;
Lord, break their slavery powers,
Will you go along with me,
Lord, break their slavery powers,
Go sound the jubilee.
That we poor souls shall all be free;
Lord, break their slavery powers,
Will you go along with me,
Lord, break their slavery powers,
Go sound the jubilee.
Dear Lord, dear Lord, when slavery'll cease,
Then we poor souls can have our peace;
There's a better day a coming,
Will you go along with me,
There's a better day a coming,
Go sound the jubilee.
Then we poor souls can have our peace;
There's a better day a coming,
Will you go along with me,
There's a better day a coming,
Go sound the jubilee.
16
THE FUGITIVE SLAVE.
Now! freemen listen to my hymn,
A story I'll relate,
That happened in the valley,
Of the old Carolina state:
They marched me to the cotton field
At early break of day,
And worked me there till late sunset
Without a cent of pay.
A story I'll relate,
That happened in the valley,
Of the old Carolina state:
They marched me to the cotton field
At early break of day,
And worked me there till late sunset
Without a cent of pay.
They worked me all the day, without a cent of pay;
So I took my flight in the middle of the night,
When the sun was gone away.
So I took my flight in the middle of the night,
When the sun was gone away.
Massa gave me a holiday,
And said he'd give me more,
I thanked him very kindly,
And shoved my boat from shore;
I drifted down the river,
My heart was light and free,
I had my eye on the bright north star,
And thought of liberty.
And said he'd give me more,
I thanked him very kindly,
And shoved my boat from shore;
I drifted down the river,
My heart was light and free,
I had my eye on the bright north star,
And thought of liberty.
They worked me all the day, &c.
I jumped out of my good old boat,
I shoved it from the shore;
I travell'd faster in that night
Than I'd ever done before:
I came up to a farmer's house
Just at the break of day,
And saw a white man standing there,
Says he, you've run away.
I shoved it from the shore;
I travell'd faster in that night
Than I'd ever done before:
I came up to a farmer's house
Just at the break of day,
And saw a white man standing there,
Says he, you've run away.
They worked me all the day, &c.
I told him I had left the whip,
And baying of the hounds,
To find a place where man was man,
If such there could be found;
I heard in Canada that all mankind were free!
That I was going there in search of liberty.
And baying of the hounds,
To find a place where man was man,
If such there could be found;
I heard in Canada that all mankind were free!
That I was going there in search of liberty.
They worked me all the day, &c.
| Poems, Original & Selected | |