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And is it Christian England cheers

The bruiser, not the bruised ? And must she run, despite the tears And prayers of eighteen hundred years,

A-muck in Slavery's crusade ?

O black disgrace! O shame and loss

Too deep for tongue to phrase on! Tear from your flag its holy cross, And in your van of battle toss

The pirate's skull-bone blazon !

PA

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ABOLITION OF SLAVERY IN THE DISTRICT OF

COLUMBIA, 1862.

W

I THEN first I saw our banner wave

Y Above the nation's council-hall,

I heard beneath its marble wall The clanking fetters of the slave!

In the foul market-place I stood,

And saw the Christian mother sold,

And childhood with its locks of gold, Blue-eyed and fair with Saxon blood.

I shut my eyes, I held my breath,

And, smothering down the wrath and shame

That set my Northern blood aflame, Stood silent — where to speak was death.

Beside me gloomed the prison-cell

Where wasted one in slow decline

For uttering simple words of mine, And loving freedom all too well.

· The flag that floated from the dome

Flapped menace in the morning air ;

I stood a perilled stranger where The human broker made his home.

For crime was virtue: Gown and Sword

And Law their threefold sanction gave,

And to the quarry of the slave Went hawking with our symbol-bird.

On the oppressor's side was power;

And yet I knew that every wrong,

However old, however strong, But waited God's avenging hour.

I knew that truth would crush the lie, —

Somehow, some time, the end would be ;

Yet scarcely dared I hope to see The triumph with my mortal eye.'

But now I see it! In the sun

A free flag floats from yonder dome,

And at the nation's hearth and home The justice long delayed is done.

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Not as we hoped, in calm of prayer,

The message of deliverance comes,

But heralded by roll of drums On waves of battle-troubled air !

'Midst sounds that madden and appall,

The song that Bethlehem's shepherds knew!

The harp of David melting through The demon-agonies of Saul !

Not as we hoped ; — but what are we?

Above our broken dreams and plans

God lays, with wiser hand than man's, The corner-stones of liberty.

I cavil not with Him: the voice

That freedom's blessed gospel tells

Is sweet to me as silver bells, Rejoicing ! — yea, I will rejoice !

Dear friends still toiling in the sun, —

Ye dearer ones who, gone before,

Are watching from the eternal shore The slow work by your hands begun,

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