N OT unto us who did but seek The word that burned within to speak, Not unto us this day belong The triumph and exultant song. Upon us fell in early youth Thenceforth our life a fight became, The air we breathed was hot with blame; We bore, as Freedom's hope forlorn, We prayed and hoped; but still, with awe, In grief which they alone can feel 3d Mo., With blended lines of fear and hope For still within her house of life Deep as our love for her, became Our hate of all that wrought her shame, We hoped for peace our eyes survey Not skill nor strength nor zeal of ours A redder sea than Egypt's wave The praise, O Lord! be Thine alone, 1865. UR fellow-countrymen in chains! Slaves crouching on the very plains Where rolled the storm of Freedom's war! A groan from Eutaw's haunted wood By storied hill and hallowed grot, What, ho! —our countrymen in chains! The whip on WOMAN's shrinking flesh! Our soil yet reddening with the stains, Caught from her scourging, warm and fresh! What! mothers from their children riven! What! God's own image bought and sold! AMERICANS to market driven, And bartered as the brute for gold! Speak! shall their agony of prayer Say, shall these writhing slaves of Wrong, What! shall we send, with lavish breath, Strikes for his freedom, or a grave? Our light on all her altars burning? |