 | [The Fugitives' Hymn, in] The Liberty Bell |  |
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The Fugitives' Hymn.
The myriad stars are gleaming
Over heads that are bowed in prayer,
And the Northern Lights are streaming
Through the mild and fragrant air,
Like the pillar of fire that once shone clear
Upon Israel's weary way;
And so, in a joy that knows no fear,
Father, thy children pray;—
While we rest where no foe can find us,
Our toils and grief seem o'er,
With the Land of Slaves behind us,
The Land of the Free before!
Over heads that are bowed in prayer,
And the Northern Lights are streaming
Through the mild and fragrant air,
Like the pillar of fire that once shone clear
Upon Israel's weary way;
And so, in a joy that knows no fear,
Father, thy children pray;—
While we rest where no foe can find us,
Our toils and grief seem o'er,
With the Land of Slaves behind us,
The Land of the Free before!
Far up through the shadowy pine-tree boughs
The night-winds roll and sigh,
And prayer sinks to whispering as we think
It may be Thy voice on high!
Has thy breath indeed come downward
To the depths of the forest lone?
Then well may our prayers go upward
To thine Eternal Throne;
They shall rise through these solemn arches,
And mingle before Thee,
To shelter our weary marches
Toward the Country of the Free!
The night-winds roll and sigh,
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It may be Thy voice on high!
Has thy breath indeed come downward
To the depths of the forest lone?
Then well may our prayers go upward
To thine Eternal Throne;
They shall rise through these solemn arches,
And mingle before Thee,
To shelter our weary marches
Toward the Country of the Free!
By day and by night in our ceaseless flight
We have toiled with footsteps slow,
We have shrunk from each voice, we have feared each noise,
As if all that lives were our foe;
Yet no thought of crime was in one breast—
Since each but sought to save
Himself and those whom he loved the best
From the life and the death of a Slave;
So, firm and fearless, though hushed and low,
Our night-song swelled to Thee,
As we wandered on in our wretchedness
Toward the Country of the Free!
We have toiled with footsteps slow,
We have shrunk from each voice, we have feared each noise,
As if all that lives were our foe;
Yet no thought of crime was in one breast—
Since each but sought to save
Himself and those whom he loved the best
From the life and the death of a Slave;
So, firm and fearless, though hushed and low,
Our night-song swelled to Thee,
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Toward the Country of the Free!
We would breathe no curse, we would ask no ill,
For those whom we leave behind,
But that Thou will grant them a wiser will,
A better and holier mind;
Our thoughts and our hopes are all before,
The Past is gone like a dream—
When we tell to Freemen our story o'er
How strange will its sorrows seem!
We are safe when we reach their sunny hills,
When we stand on their waving plains;
They will laugh to scorn the tyrannous voice
That would call us back to chains:—
We will toil with joy in that promised Land
And sing our praise to Thee
Who didst lead us forth with a mighty hand
To the country of the Free!
For those whom we leave behind,
But that Thou will grant them a wiser will,
A better and holier mind;
Our thoughts and our hopes are all before,
The Past is gone like a dream—
When we tell to Freemen our story o'er
How strange will its sorrows seem!
We are safe when we reach their sunny hills,
When we stand on their waving plains;
They will laugh to scorn the tyrannous voice
That would call us back to chains:—
We will toil with joy in that promised Land
And sing our praise to Thee
Who didst lead us forth with a mighty hand
To the country of the Free!
NEWBURYPORT, MASSACHUSETTS.
| [The Fugitives' Hymn, in] The Liberty Bell | |