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  THE
  ANTI-SLAVERY HARP:
  COLLECTION OF SONGS
  FOR
  ANTI-SLAVERY MEETINGS.

  COMPILED BY
  WILLIAM W. BROWN.

  THIRD EDITION.

  BOSTON:
  PUBLISHED BY BELA MARSH,
  No. 25 Cornhill.
  1851.




  Press of Bazin & Chandler,
  No. 37 Cornhill.




SONGS.




[Illustration]

FREEDOM’S BANNER.

                    AIR--Freedom’s Banner.


  My country, shall thy honored name,
    Be as a by-word through the world?
  Rouse! for as if to blast thy fame,
    This keen reproach is at thee hurled;
  The banner that above the waves,
    Is floating over three millions slaves.

  That flag, my country, I had thought,
    From noble sires was given to thee;
  By the best blood of patriots bought,
    To wave alone above the Free!
  Yet now, while to the breeze it waves,
  It floats above three millions slaves.

  The mighty dead that flag unrolled,
    They bathed it in the heaven’s own blue;
  They sprinkled stars upon each fold,
    And gave it as a trust to you;
  And now that glorious banner waves
  In shame above three millions slaves.

  O, by the virtues of our sires,
    And by the soil on which they trod,
  And by the trust their name inspires,
    And by the hope we have in God,
  Arouse, my country, and agree
  To set thy captive children free.

  Arouse! and let each hill and glen
    With prayer to the high heavens ring out,
  Till all our land with freeborn men,
    May join in one triumphant shout,
  That freedom’s banner does not wave
  Its folds above a single slave.




O, PITY THE SLAVE MOTHER!

                              AIR--Araby’s Daughter.


  I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary,
    Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast;
  I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary,
    I lament for her woes, and her wrongs unredressed.
  O who can imagine her heart’s deep emotion,
    As she thinks of her children about to be sold;
  You may picture the bounds of the rock-girdled ocean,
    But the grief of that mother can never be known.

  The mildew of slavery has blighted each blossom,
    That ever has bloomed in her pathway below;
  It has froze every fountain that gushed in her bosom,
    And chilled her heart’s verdure with pitiless woe;
  Her parents, her kindred, all crushed by oppression;
    Her husband still doomed in its desert to stay;
  No arm to protect from the tyrant’s aggression--
    She must weep as she treads on her desolate way.

  O, slave mother, hope! see--the nation is shaking!
    The arm of the Lord is awake to thy wrong!
  The slave-holder’s heart now with terror is quaking,
    Salvation and Mercy to Heaven belong!
  Rejoice, O, rejoice! for the child thou art rearing,
    May one day lift up its unmanacled form,
  While hope, to thy heart, like the rain-bow so cheering,
    Is born, like the rain-bow, ’mid tempest and storm.




THE BLIND SLAVE BOY.

                                   AIR--Sweet Afton.


  Come back to me, mother! why linger away
  From thy poor little 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 to sorrow with me;
  For each hath 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 thy poor little blind one be pressed;
  Once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek,
  And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak!
  O mother! I’ve no one to love me--no heart
  Can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part;
  No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind!
  O! 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 thee, 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 of mammon hath trod
  On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God!

  Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone,
  She hears in her anguish his piteous moan,
  As he eagerly listens--but 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 this wormwood and gall,
  And his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy,
  Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy!




YE SONS OF FREEMEN!

                             AIR--Marseilles Hymn.


          Ye sons of freemen, wake to sadness,
            Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise;
          Three millions of our race in madness
            Break out in wails, in bitter cries,
            Break out in wails, in bitter cries;
          Must men whose hearts now bleed with anguish,
            Yes, trembling slaves in freedom’s land,
            Endure the lash, nor raise a hand?
          Must nature ’neath the whip-cord languish?
            Have pity on the slave,
            Take courage from God’s word;
  Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free.

          The fearful storm--it threatens lowering,
            Which God in mercy long delays;
          Slaves yet may see their masters cowering,
            While whole plantations smoke and blaze!
            While whole plantations smoke and blaze;
          And we may now prevent the ruin,
            Ere lawless force with guilty stride
            Shall scatter vengeance far and wide--
          With untold crimes their hands imbruing.
            Have pity on the slave;
            Take courage from God’s word;
  Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free.

          With luxury and wealth surrounded,
            The southern masters proudly dare,
          With thirst of gold and power unbounded,
            To mete and vend God’s light and air!
            To mete and vend God’s light and air;
          Like beasts of burden, slaves are loaded,
            Till life’s poor toilsome day is o’er;
            While they in vain for right implore;
          And shall they longer still be goaded?
            Have pity on the slave;
            Take courage from God’s word;
  Toil on, toil on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free.

          O Liberty! can man e’er bind thee?
            Can overseers quench thy flame?
          Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee,
            Or threats thy Heaven-born spirit tame?
            Or threats thy Heaven-born spirit tame;
          Too long the slave has groaned, bewailing
            The power these heartless tyrants wield;
            Yet free them not by sword or shield,
          For with men’s hearts they’re unavailing;
            Have pity on the slave;
            Take courage from God’s word;
  Toil on! toil on! all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free!




FREEDOM’S STAR.

                                  AIR--Silver Moon.


  As I strayed from my cot at the close of the day,
    I turned my fond gaze to the sky;
  I beheld all the stars as so sweetly they lay,
    And but one fixed my heart or my eye.

  Chorus.
    Shine on, northern star, thou’rt beautiful and bright
      To the slave on his journey afar;
    For he speeds from his foes in the darkness of night,
      Guided on by thy light, freedom’s star.

  On thee he depends when he threads the dark woods
    Ere the bloodhounds have hunted him back;
  Thou leadest him on over mountains and floods,
    With thy beams shining full on his track.
  Shine on, &c.

  Unwelcome to him is the bright orb of day,
    As it glides o’er the earth and the sea;
  He seeks then to hide like a wild beast of prey,
    But with hope rests his heart upon thee.
  Shine on, &c.

  May never a cloud overshadow thy face,
    While the slave flies before his pursuer;
  Gleam steadily on to the end of his race,
    Till his body and soul are secure.
  Shine on, &c.




THE LIBERTY BALL.

                       AIR--Rosin the Bow.


  Come all ye true friends of the nation,
    Attend to humanity’s call;
  Come aid the poor slave’s liberation,
    And roll on the liberty ball--
    And roll on the liberty ball--
  Come aid the poor slave’s liberation,
      And roll on the liberty ball.

  The liberty hosts are advancing--
    For freedom to all they declare;
  The down-trodden millions are sighing--
    Come break up our gloom of despair.
    Come break up our gloom of despair, &c.

  Ye Democrats, come to the rescue,
    And aid on the liberty cause,
  And millions will rise up and bless you,
    With heart-cheering songs of applause,
    With heart-cheering songs, &c.

  Ye Whigs, forsake slavery’s minions,
    And boldly step into our ranks;
  We care not for party opinions,
    But invite all the friends of the banks--
    And invite all the friends of the banks, &c.

  And when we have formed the blest union
    We’ll firmly march on, one and all--
  We’ll sing when we meet in communion,
    And _roll on_ the liberty ball,
    And roll on the liberty ball, &c.




THE NORTH STAR.

                   AIR--Oh! Susannah.


  Lo! the Northern Star is beaming
    With a new and glorious light,
  And its cheering radiance streaming
    Through the clouds of misty night!
  Freemen! in your great Endeavor,
    ’Tis a signal hung on high,
  And will guide us on forever,
    Like a banner in the sky!
      Oh! Star of Freedom,
        ’Tis the star for me;
      ’Twill lead me off to Canada,
        There I will be free.

  Growing brighter in all ages,
    Cheering Freedom on its way,
  Shedding o’er Time’s clouded pages
    Glimmers of the coming Day--
  Ever telling Man the glory
    And the freedom of its birth,
  Waiting to record the story
    Of the Freedom of the Fourth!
      Oh! Star of Freedom,
        ’Tis the star for me,
      ’Twill lead me off to Canada,
        There I will be free.

  The mariner, ’mid the surging
    Of the stormy waves and dark,
  Hails the Northern Star emerging
    From the clouds above his bark!
  ’Tis a trust that faileth never,
    And a light that never dies--
  ’Tis the beacon-star forever
    Beaming in the arctic skies!
      Oh! Star of Freedom,
        ’Tis the star for me,
      ’Twill lead me off to Canada,
        There I will be free.

  ’Tis the star that Freedom claimeth
    As her emblem pure and bright,
  And we watch it as it flameth
    “In the dark and troubled night:”
  While we march to battle glorious,
    With our weapons, Truth and Love,
  Freedom, as she proves victorious,
    Hails the _Banner_ Star above!
      Oh! Star of Freedom, &c.




OVER THE MOUNTAIN.


  Over the mountain and over the moor,
    Hungry and weary I wander forlorn;
  My father is dead and my mother is poor,
    And she grieves for the days that will never return;
      Give me some food for my mother in charity,
        Give me some food and then I will be gone.
      Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity,
        Cold blows the wind and the night’s coming on.

  Call me not indolent beggar and bold enough,
    Fain would I learn both to knit and to sew;
  I’ve two little brothers at home, when they’re old enough,
    They will work hard for the gifts you bestow;
  Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity,
    Cold blows the wind, and the night’s coming on;
  Give me some food for my mother in charity,
    Give me some food, and then I will be gone.




JUBILEE SONG.

                       AIR--Away the Bowl.


  Our grateful hearts with joy o’erflow,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
  We hail the Despot’s overthrow,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
  No more he’ll raise the gory lash,
  And sink it deep in human flesh,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.

  We raise the song in Freedom’s name,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
  Her glorious triumph we proclaim,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
  Beneath her feet lie Slavery’s chains,
  Their power to curse no more remains,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.

  With joy we’ll make the air resound,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
  That all may hear the gladsome sound,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
  We glory at Oppression’s fall,
  The Slave has burst his deadly thrall,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.

  In mirthful glee we’ll dance and sing,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
  With shouts we’ll make the welkin ring,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
  Shout! shout aloud! the bondsman’s free!
  This, this is Freedom’s jubilee!
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
        Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.




SPIRIT OF FREEMEN, WAKE!

                AIR--America.


  Spirit of Freemen, wake;
  No truce with Slavery make,
      Thy deadly foe;
  In fair disguises dressed,
  Too long hast thou caress’d
  The serpent in thy breast,
      Now lay him low.

  Must e’en the press be dumb?
  Must truth itself succumb?
      And thoughts be mute?
  Shall law be set aside,
  The right of prayer denied,
  Nature and God decried,
      And man called brute?

  What lover of her fame
  Feels not his country’s shame,
      In this dark hour?
  Where are the patriots now,
  Of honest heart and brow,
  Who scorn the neck to bow
      To Slavery’s power?

  Sons of the Free! we call
  On you, in field and hall,
      To rise as one;
  Your heaven-born rights maintain,
  Nor let Oppression’s chain
  On human limbs remain;--
      Speak! and ’tis done.




THE SLAVE’S LAMENTATION.

                             AIR--Long, long ago.


  Where are the friends that to me were so dear,
          Long, long ago--long ago!
  Where are the hopes that my heart used to cheer,
          Long, long ago--long ago!
  I am degraded, for man was my foe,
  Friends that I loved in the grave are laid low,
  All hope of freedom hath fled from me now,
          Long, long ago--long, long ago!

  Sadly my wife bowed her beautiful head--
          Long, long ago--long ago!
  O, how I wept when I found she was dead!
          Long, long ago--long ago!
  She was my angel, my love and pride--
  Vainly to save her from torture I tried,
  Poor broken heart! She rejoiced as she died,
          Long, long ago--long, long ago!

  Let me look back on the days of my youth--
          Long, long ago--long ago!
  Master withheld from me knowledge and truth--
          Long, long ago--long ago!
  Crushed all the hopes of my earliest day,
  Sent me from father and mother away--
  Forbade me to read, nor allowed me to pray--
          Long, long ago--long, long ago!




SONG FOR THE TIMES.


  I hear the cry of millions, of millions, of millions,
  I hear the cry of millions, of millions in bonds;
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.

  I hear the voice of Garrison, of Garrison, of Garrison,
  I hear the voice of Garrison, loud pleading for the slave;
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.

  I hear the voice of Phillips, of Phillips, of Phillips,
  I hear the voice of Phillips, in strain of eloquence;
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.

  I hear the voice of Foster, of Foster, of Foster,
  I hear the voice of Foster, against the priesthood;
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.

  I hear the voice of Pillsbury, of Pillsbury, of Pillsbury,
  I hear the voice of Pillsbury, with all his sarcasm;
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.

  I hear the voice of Remond, of Remond, of Remond,
  I hear the voice of Remond, on prejudice ’gainst color;
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.

  I hear the voice of Buffum, of Buffum, of Buffum,
  I hear the voice of Buffum, with a few more facts;
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.

  I hear the voice of Quincy, of Quincy, of Quincy,
  I hear the voice of Quincy, in words of living truth,
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.

  I hear the voice of Walker, of Walker, of Walker,
  I hear the voice of Walker, and see his “Branded Hand;”
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.

  I hear the voice of Giddings, of Giddings, of Giddings,
  I hear the voice of Giddings, in Congress, for the slave;
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.

  I hear the voice of thousands, of thousands, of thousands,
  I hear the voice of thousands, in favor of “Disunion;”
  Oh! set the captive free, set him free, set him free,
  Oh! set the captive free from his chains.




FLIGHT OF THE BONDMAN.

DEDICATED TO WILLIAM W. BROWN,

_And Sung by the Hutchinsons_.

BY ELIAS SMITH.

                                  AIR--Silver Moon.


  From the crack of the rifle and baying of hound,
    Takes the poor panting bondman his flight;
  His couch through the day is the cold damp ground,
    But northward he runs through the night.
      Chorus.
  O, God speed the flight of the desolate slave,
    Let his heart never yield to despair;
  There is room ’<DW41> our hills for the true and the brave,
    Let his lungs breathe our free northern air!

  O, sweet to the storm-driven sailor the light,
    Streaming far o’er the dark swelling wave;
  But sweeter by far ’<DW41> the lights of the night,
    Is the star of the north to the slave.
      O, God speed, &c.

  Cold and bleak are our mountains and chilling our winds,
    But warm as the soft southern gales
  Be the hands and the hearts which the hunted one finds,
    ’<DW41> our hills and our own winter vales.
      O, God speed, &c.

  Then list to the ’plaint of the heart-broken thrall,
    Ye blood-hounds, go back to your lair;
  May a free northern soil soon give freedom to all,
    Who shall breathe in its pure mountain air.
      O, God speed, &c.




THE SWEETS OF LIBERTY.

               AIR--Is there a heart, &c.


  Is there a man that never sighed
    To set the prisoner free?
  Is there a man that never prized
    The sweets of liberty?
  Then let him, let him breathe unseen,
    Or in a dungeon live;
  Nor never, never know the sweets
    That liberty can give.

  Is there a heart so cold in man,
    Can galling fetters crave?
  Is there a wretch so truly low,
    Can stoop to be a slave?
  O, let him, then, in chains be bound,
    In chains and bondage live;
  Nor never, never know the sweets
    That liberty can give.

  Is there a breast so chilled in life,
    Can nurse the coward’s sigh?
  Is there a creature so debased,
    Would not for freedom die?
  O, let him then be doomed to crawl
    Where only reptiles live;
  Nor never, never know the sweets
    That liberty can give.




YE SPIRITS OF THE FREE!

  AIR--My faith looks up to thee.


  Ye spirits of the free,
  Can ye forever see
      Your brother man
  A yoked and scourged slave,
  Chains dragging to his grave,
  And raise no hand to save?
      Say if you can.

  In pride and pomp to roll,
  Shall tyrants from the soul
      God’s image tear,
  And call the wreck their own,--
  While, from the eternal throne,
  They shut the stifled groan
      And bitter prayer?

  Shall he a slave be bound,
  Whom God hath doubly crowned
      Creation’s lord?
  Shall men of Christian name,
  Without a blush of shame,
  Profess their tyrant claim
      From God’s own word?

  No! at the battle cry,
  A host prepared to die,
      Shall arm for fight--
  But not with martial steel,
  Grasped with a murderous zeal;
  No arms their foes shall feel,
      But love and light.

  Firm on Jehovah’s laws,
  Strong in their righteous cause,
      Their march to save.
  And vain the tyrant’s mail,
  Against their battle-hail,
  Till cease the woe and wail
      Of tortured slave.




I AM AN ABOLITIONIST.

                   AIR--Auld Lang Syne.


  I am an Abolitionist!
    I glory in the name:
  Though now by Slavery’s minions hiss’d
    And covered o’er with shame,
  It is a spell of light and power--
    The watchword of the free:--
  Who spurns it in the trial-hour,
    A craven soul is he!

  I am an Abolitionist!
    Then urge me not to pause;
  For joyfully do I enlist
    In FREEDOM’S sacred cause:
  A nobler strife the world ne’er saw,
    Th’ enslaved to disenthral;
  I am a soldier for the war,
    Whatever may befall!

  I am an Abolitionist!
    Oppression’s deadly foe;
  In God’s great strength will I resist,
    And lay the monster low;
  In God’s great name do I demand,
    To all be freedom given,
  That peace and joy may fill the land,
    And songs go up to heaven!

  I am an Abolitionist!
    No threats shall awe my soul,
  No perils cause me to desist,
    No bribes my acts control;
  A freeman will I live and die,
    In sunshine and in shade,
  And raise my voice for liberty,
    Of nought on earth afraid.




THE BEREAVED MOTHER.

                                   AIR--Kathleen O’More.


  O, deep was the anguish of the slave mother’s heart