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No vile " itinerant” then could mar

The beauty of your tranquil Zion, But at his peril of the scar

Of hangman's whip and branding-iron.

Then, wholesome laws relieved the church

Of heretic and mischief-maker,
And priest and bailiff joined in search,

By turns, of Papist, witch, and Quaker!
The stocks were at each church's door,

The gallows stood on Boston Common, A Papist's ears the pillory bore,

The gallows-rope, a Quaker woman !

Your fathers dealt not as ye deal

With“ non-professing” frantic teachers; They bored the tongue with red-hot steel,

And flayed the backs of “female preachers," Old Newbury, had her fields a tongue,

And Salem's streets could tell their story,
Of fainting woman dragged along,
Gashed by the whip, accursed and gory


And will ye ask me, why this taunt

Of memories sacred from the scorner ? And why with reckless hand I plant

A nettle on the graves ye honor ? Not to reproach New England's dead

This record from the past I summon, Of manhood to the scaffold led,

And suffering and heroic woman.

No-for yourselves alone, I turn

The pages of intolerance over, That, in their spirit, dark and stern,

Ye haply may your own discover! For, if ye claim the “ pastoral right

To silence Freedom's voice of warning, And from your precincts shut the light

Of Freedom's day around ye dawning;

If when an earthquake voice of power,

And signs in earth and heaven are showing That, forth, in its appointed hour,

The Spirit of the Lord is going ! And, with that Spirit, Freedom's light

On kindred, tongue, and people breaking, Whose slumbering millions, at the sight,

In glory and in strength are waking !

When for the sighing of the poor,

And for the needy, God hath risen, And chains are breaking, and a door

Is opening for the souls in prison ! If then ye would, with puny hands,

Arrest the very work of Heaven, And bind anew the evil bands

Which God's right arm of power hath riven

What marvel that, in many a mind,

Those darker deeds of bigot madness Are closely with your own combined,

Yet “less in anger than in sadness ? " What marvei, if the people learn

To claim the right of free opinion ? What marvel, if at times they spurn

The ancient yoke of your dominion ?

A glorious remnant linger yet,

Whose lips are wet at Freedom's fountains, The coming of whose welcome feet

Is beautiful upon our mountains ! Men, who the gospel tidings bring

Of Liberty and Love for ever, Whose joy is an abiding spring,

Whose peace is as a gentle river !


But who scorn the thrilling tale

of Carolina's high-souled daughters, Which echoes here the mournful wail

Of sorrow from Edisto's waters,

Close while ye may the public ear

With malice vex, with slander wound then The pure and good shall throng to hear,

And tried and manly hearts surround them.

Oh, ever may the power which led

Their way to such a fiery trial,
And strengthened womanhood to tread

The wine-press of such self-denial,
Be round them in an evil land,

With wisdom and with strength from Ileaven With Miriam's voice, and Judith's hand,

And Deborah's song for triumph given!

And what are ye who strive with God,

Against the ark of his salvation, Moved by the breath of prayer abroad,

With blessings for a dying nation ? What, but the stubble and the hay

To perish, even as flax consuming, With all that bars his glorious way,

Before the brightness of his coming ?

And thou sad Angel, who so long

Hast waited for the glorious token, That Earth from all her bonds of wrong

To liberty and light has broken-Angel of Freedom! soon to thee

The sounding trumpet shall be given, And over Earth’s full jubilee

Shall deeper joy be felt in Heaven!


WBITTEN for the meeting of the Anti-Slavery Society, at Chatham Street Chapel, N. Y., held on the 4th of the 7th month, 1834.

O Thou, whose presence went before

Our fathers in their weary way,
As with thy chosen moved of yore

The fire by night—the cloud by day!

When from each temple of the free,

A nation's song ascends to Heaven,
Most Holy Father! unto thee

May not our humble prayer be given ?

Thy children all-though hue and form

Åre varied in thine own good will
With thy own holy breathings warm,

And fashioned in thine image still.

We thank thee, Father !hill and plain

Around us wave their fruits once more,
And clustered vine, and blossomed grain,

Are bending round each cottage door.

And peace is here; and hope and love

Are round us as a mantle thrown,
And unto Thee, supreme above,

The knee of prayer is bowed alone.

But oh, for those this day can bring,

As unto us, no joyful thrill
For those who, under Freedom's wing,

Are bound in Slavery's fetters still:

For those to whom thy living word

Of light and love is never given
For those whose ears have never heard

The promise and the hope of Ileaven !

For broken heart, and clouded mind,

Whereon no human mercies fall-
Oh, be thy gracious love inclined,

Who, as a Father, pitiest all!

And grant, O Father! that the time

Of Earth's deliverance may be near,
When every land, and tongue, and clime,

The message of thy love shall hear

When, smitten as with fire from heaven,

The captive's chain shall sink in dust,
And to his fettered soul be given

The glorious freedom of the just!


WRITTEN for the celebration of the Third Anniversary of British

Emancipation, at the Broadway Tabernacle, N. Y., “First of August," 1837.

O HOLY FATHER -just and true

Are all thy works and words and ways,
And unto Thee alone are due

Thanksgiving and eternal praise !
As children of thy gracious care,

We veil the eye-we bend the knee,
With broken words of praise and prayer,

Father and God, we come to thee.

For thou hast heard, O God of Right,

The sighing of the island slave;
And stretched for him the arm of might,

Not shortened that it could not save.
The laborer sits beneath his vine,

The shackled soul and hand are free
Thanksgiving !—for the work is thine !

Praise |--for the blessing is of Thee!

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