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The Anti-Slavery Harp

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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Anti-Slavery Harp, by Various, Edited by William W. BrownThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it,give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.netTitle: The Anti-Slavery HarpAuthor: VariousRelease Date: December 13, 2003 [eBook #10448]Language: English***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANTI-SLAVERY HARP***E-text prepared by Sean C. Sieger and Project Gutenberg Distributed ProofreadersTHE ANTI-SLAVERY HARP:A COLLECTION OF SONGS FOR ANTI-SLAVERY MEETINGSCOMPILED BYWILLIAM W. BROWN,A FUGITIVE SLAVE.1848.PREFACE.The demand of the public for a cheap Anti-Slavery Song-Book, containing Songs of a more recent composition, hasinduced me to collect together, and present to the public, the songs contained in this book.In making this collection, however, I am indebted to the authors of the "Liberty Minstrel," and "the Anti-Slavery Melodies,"But the larger portion of these songs has never before been published; some have never been in print.To all true friends of the Slave, the Anti-Slavery Harp is respectfully dedicated,W. W. BROWN.BOSTON, JUNE, 1848.SONGS.HAVE WE NOT ALL ONE FATHER?AM I NOT A MAN AND BROTHER?AIR—Bride's Farewell.Am I not a man and brother? Ought I not, then, to be free?Sell me not one to another, Take not thus my liberty.Christ our ...

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Publié par	vaud
Publié le	08 décembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	30
Langue	English

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THE ANTI-SLAVERY HARP: A COLLECTION OFSONGS FOR ANTI-SLAVERYMEETINGS COMPILED BY WILLIAM W. BROWN, A FUGITIVESLAVE. 1848.

E-text prepared by Sean C. Sieger and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANTI-SLAVERY HARP***

Title: The Anti-Slavery Harp Author: Various Release Date: December 13, 2003 [eBook #10448] Language: English

PREFACE. The demand of the public for a cheap Anti-Slavery Song-Book, containing Songs of a more recent composition, has induced me to collect together, and present to the public, the songs contained in this book. In making this collection, however, I am indebted to the authors of the "Liberty Minstrel," and "the Anti-Slavery Melodies," But the larger portion of these songs has never before been published; some have never been in print. To all true friends of the Slave, the Anti-Slavery Harp is respectfully dedicated, W. W. BROWN. BOSTON, JUNE, 1848.

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

SONGS.

HAV

E WE NOT ALL ONE FATHER?

AM I NOT A MAN AND BROTHER? AIR—Bride's Farewell.

Am I not a man and brother? Ought I not, then, to be free? Sell me not one to another, Take not thus my liberty. Christ our Saviour, Christ our Saviour, Died for me as well as thee. Am I not a man and brother? Have I not a soul to save? Oh, do not my spirit smother, Making me a wretched slave; God of mercy, God of mercy, Let me fill a freeman's grave! Yes, thou art a man and brother, Though thou long hast groaned a slave, Bound with cruel cords and tether From the cradle to the grave! Yet the Saviour, yet the Saviour, Bled and died all souls to save. Yes, thou art a man and brother, Though we long have told thee nay; And are bound to aid each other, All along our pilgrim way. Come and welcome, come and welcome, Join with us to praise and pray!

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 path-way 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.

ndur, Elandm's eeod nrfsei lsvag inblemtr, es Y ,hsiugna htiw dnow blee hearts new ohes,suMtsm r teiecrin, it bw nislia kae tuoor megf sowoG'd Tae, ourake c no ytipvals eht? shuinge av H ht ehwpic-ro dalt nature 'neath siar a ednahsuM?the lae , shr nofo snos eYtoe ak wenemre fai wint bin, lsrc rettirB ,seiur rof oin mace ss daen kuorBaes add biu yoserirhT;m eeilli sno sadness, Hark!h ra,kw ah tymir sllttcae idha Sytlirts tiw ug he—With u and widnaecf rarev neegevprw noy mae wdnA;ezalb dna ekorcess fawlere l ,E urniht ene tsdnah riniurbmi crd olnthe tesim

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!

AIR—Marseilles Hymn.

YE SONS OF FREEMEN.

AIR—Sweet Afton.

eefrauff er.ehTit threal storm—nire ,gsnetwol ind er micWhGoh rpyano ,ar ydrP;rts hea all on,c eseht—devloserbel alshs vetiap whole plantatiosns omeka dnb al! zehi W wlelehoalp tatnsnoioms ong cy lys;Sdela seyalev yes tamr eithe s erstmagnirewocelihW ,Y.LSVA EOB ELBNI DTH

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.

THE LIBERTY BALL. AIR—Rosin the Bow.

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. 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.

ill lifeaded, Totliosems'p oo r bofdeurea bs stra sol es ,nevalimplght r rin fo lhthslanA dro;e W; ero's iay diav ni yeht elihew rnuobnued,d To mete and vendrad iW,et htsrihoft ol gand pod ne ddnv siloG'dand ght Likeair;l s'doG dna thgi T! ir a atemeo f eb.eerhs s llaap cveti—tedsehe serosvlllh aetray on, ay on, prylduorp sretsam rnheutsoe Th d,nuedruorhts ewlaand ury luxWiths d'Gom ra;Prdwouoc ekaTorf egare sln th ave;H va yto eip.rfeeb ehalles sptive caoadebe g Had? noegyel li l rts ; velacoe ak T ytip evs eht no word;Toil on, truga erfmoG dos' rtsolesd—veesth lio ,no llaraeh

loom of despair. oCemb erkau sie ingh g—meCorb , kaeo pug ruThe are;-trodownm liddne srailnor Fo g—m doeefrt lla otlced yehiwllr siliilno s bless ye up andeht bil ia dno d,Ase mndtyerau c eotc mota,somrc Ancue, res thed fo moolg ruo pDee .Y&c, irpaesA ,b dnldlots yvela'sryin mnsiohWgi,sf roaseks ng songs, &c.Ye raeh htiireehc-tauplapf W , seirgnhceesgo s no Witou, art-h he odsthf fheenria ett ll dnAivniks,— the baneidn sfo lht erfale itnv iut B, snoinipo ytrap rt foe no cars;Wearknuo rtn opei true ye allComeoi,nreta dor nA slapoor libve's —llab yr dnA thn ollrtbelie anitno ,A ttne d friends of the C;ll emo dia eht htoanumy'itcas balerty lib the lnor loA dn , inncvaade ars stoh ytrebiL ehT.l Comety ball—ehl birelo lnot rabeontie'avlis oop ls rdia eht c, &d Anbae s,nkevahrof nehw ew blest unmed the llf rilmoi nW 'ee on, onh rcmay is ll'eW—lla dnaeet we mhen ng w ,A innomoumnic r dn llot nol eherib btyl,al nA dorllo nht eliberty ball, de.c

Praise we the Lord! let songs resound To earth's remotest shore! Songs of thanksgiving, songs of praise— For we are slaves no more. Praise we the Lord! His power hath rent The chains that held us long! His voice is mighty, as of old, And still His arm is strong. Praise we the Lord! His wrath arose, His arm our fetters broke; The tyrant dropped the lash, and we To liberty awoke! Praise we the Lord! let holy songs Rise from these happy isles!— O! let us not unworthy prove, On whom His bounty smiles. And cease we not the fight of faith Till all mankind be free; Till mercy o'er the earth shall flow, As waters o'er the sea. Then shall indeed Messiah's reign Through all the world extend; Then swords to ploughshares shall be turned, And Heaven with earth shall blend.

EMANCIPATION HYMN OF THE WEST INDIAN NEGROES. FOR THE FIRST OF AUGUST CELEBRATION.

VORET HE 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 begone.

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.

lS oreva s'yewopSor? onsthf Fre ee !ewc laOl noyu, in field and n stoirtoh fO,woea hstne bnd arthW oor,w nhtcsrock te new To bos n'aichreppiossil n sbm nOnamuh Speak!remain;—sid no.ea dn' t aserio T, llhaevaeh ruoY;eno ss maightrn rn-boteO rol niN,niatieen derretuNad,thgir ehyarp fo setw bede,T asitu?eebm lalhSla A? tndughos htti hflescus bmuce dumb?Must trut'enet ehp erssb ap eht era erehWr?ou hrkdas hi t nIma,e shsrt'ycounhis not els af reFemo reeh fatWhov lbrd e?utnac lael ,A dnm decried and Godem,nrFee;eoNw kace w truSlavith Spf oitirow l, Neasty brsu twoM.mil yah dTs'esar coutht ht ni tnepres ehses dresr disguiolgnh saes,doT o T, dhyy erkemanI;eiaf ldaeof yBY ELIAS SMIHT.

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!

FLIGHT OF THE BONDMAN. DEDICATED TO WILLIAM W. BROWNAnd Sung by the Hutchinsons

THE SLAVE'S LAMENTATION. AIR—Long, long ago.