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Close while ye may the public ear

With malice vex, with slander wound themThe 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 Heaven 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 brokenAngel of Freedom! soon to thee

The sounding trumpet shall be given, and over Earth's full jubilee

Shall deeper joy be felt in Heaven !



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

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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

Are 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.

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

Sromise and the hope of Heaven !

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!

And oh, we feel thy presence here-,

Thy awful arm in judgment bare !


hath seen the bondman's tearThine ear hath heard the bondman's prayer! Praise !—for the pride of man is low,

The counsels of the wise are nought,
The fountains of repentance flow;

What hath our God in mercy wrought ?
Speed on thy work, Lord God of Hosts !

And when the bondman's chain is riven,
And swells from all our guilty coasts

The anthem of the free to Heaven,
Oh, not to those whom Thou hast led,

As with thy cloud and fire before,
But unto Thee, in fear and dread,

Be praise and glory ever more.


WRITTEN for the Anniversary celebration of the First of August

at Milton, 1846.

A few brief years have passed away

Since Britain drove her million slaves
Beneath the tropic's fiery ray:
God willed their freedom; and to-day

Life blooms above those island graves !

He spoke! across the Carib sea,

We heard the clash of breaking chains,
And felt the heart-throb of the free,
The first, strong pulse of liberty

Which thrilled along the bondman’s veins.
Though long delayed, and far, and slow,
The Briton's triumph shall be ours ·

Wears slavery here a prouder brow
Than that which twelve short years ago

Scowled darkly from her island bowers? Mighty alike for good or ill

With mother-land, we fully share The Saxon strength—the nerve of steel--The tireless energy of will,

The power to do, the pride to dare. What she has done can we not do?

Our hour and men are both at hand; The blast which Freedom's angel blew O’er her green islands, echoes through

Each valley of our forest land.

Hear it, old Europe ! we have sworn

The death of slavery.- When it falls Look to your vassals in their turn, Your poor dumb millions, crushed and worn,

Your prisons and your palace walls! Oh kingly mockers !—scoffing show

What deeds in Freedom's name we do; Yet know that every taunt ye throw Across the waters, goads our slow

Progression towards the right and true.

Not always shall your outraged poor,

Appalled by democratic crime, Grind as their fathers ground before,-The hour which sees our prison door

Swing wide shall be their triumph time. On then, my brothers ! every

Ye deal is felt the wide earth through;
Whatever here uplifts the low
Or humbles Freedoni's hateful foe,

Blesses the Old World through the New.

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