Are Ye Truly Free?

AIR--Martyn.

Men! whose boast it is that ye Come of fathers brave and free; If there breathe on earth a slave, Are ye truly free and brave? Are ye not base slaves indeed, Men unworthy to be freed, If ye do not feel the chain, When it works a brother’s pain?

Women! who shall one day bear Sons to breathe God’s bounteous air, If ye hear without a blush, Deeds to make the roused blood rush Like red lava through your veins, For your sisters now in chains; Answer! are ye fit to be Mothers of the brave and free?

Is true freedom but to break Fetters for our own dear sake, And, with leathern hearts forget That we owe mankind a debt? No! true freedom is to share All the chains our brothers wear, And with hand and heart to be Earnest to make others free.

They are slaves who fear to speak For the fallen and the weak; They are slaves, who will not choose Hatred, scoffing, and abuse, Rather than, in silence, shrink From the truth they needs must think; They are slaves, who dare not be In the right with two or three.

COME JOIN THE ABOLITIONISTS.

AIR--When I can read my title clear.

Come join the Abolitionists, Ye young men bold and strong, And with a warm and cheerful zeal, Come help the cause along; O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, O that will be joyful, when Slavery is no more, When Slavery is no more. ’Tis then we’ll sing, and offerings bring, When Slavery is no more.

Come join the Abolitionists, Ye men of riper years, And save your wives and children dear, From grief and bitter tears; O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, O that will be joyful, when Slavery is no more, When Slavery is no more, ’Tis then we’ll sing, and offerings bring, When Slavery is no more.

Come join the Abolitionists, Ye dames and maidens fair, And breathe around us in our path Affection’s hallowed air; O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, O that will be joyful, when woman cheers us on, When woman cheers us on, to conquests not yet won. ’Tis then we’ll sing, and offerings bring, When woman cheers us on.

Come join the Abolitionists, Ye sons and daughters all, Of this our own America-- Come at the friendly call; O that will be joyful, joyful, joyful, O that will be joyful, when all shall proudly say, This, this is Freedom’s day--Oppression flee away! ’Tis then we’ll sing, and offerings bring, When freedom wins the day.

THE SLAVE’S A MAN, FOR A’ THAT.

Though stripped of all the dearest rights Which nature claims and a’ that, There’s that which in the slave unites To make the man for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, Though dark his skin, and a’ that, We cannot rob him of his kind, The slave’s a man, for a’ that.

Though by his brother bought and sold, And beat and scourged, and a’ that, His wrongs can ne’er be felt or told, Yet he’s a man for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, His body chained and a’ that, The image of his God remains,-- The slave’s a man, for a’ that.

How dark the spirit that enslaves! Yet darker still than a’ that, He, who amid the light, still craves Apologies, and a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, Small evil finds, and a’ that, In crimes which are of darkest hue, And foulest deeds, and a’ that.

If those who now in bondage groan, Were white, and fair, and a’ that, O should we not their fate bemoan, And plead their cause, and a’ that? For a’ that, and a’ that, Would any say, in a’ that We’ve nought to do--they are not here-- We’ll mind our own, and a’ that?

O tell us not they’re clothed and fed, ’Tis insult, stuff, and a’ that; With freedom gone, all joy is fled, For Heaven’s best gift is a’ that! For a’ that, and a’ that, Free agency, and a’ that, We get from Him who rules on high-- The slave we rob of a’ that.

Then think not to escape His wrath, Who’s equal, just, and a’ that; His warning voice is sounded forth, We heed it not, for a’ that: For a’ that, and a’ that, ’Tis not less sure for a’ that; His vengeance, though ’tis long delayed, Will come at last, for a’ that.

YOUR BROTHER IS A SLAVE.

O weep, ye friends of Freedom, weep! Shout liberty no more; Your harps to mournful measures sweep, Till slavery’s reign is o’er. O, furl your star-lit thing of light-- That banner should not wave Where vainly pleading for his right, Your brother toils--a Slave!

O pray, ye friends of Freedom, For those who toil in chains, Who lift their fettered hands to-day On Carolina’s plain! God is the hope of the Oppressed; His arm is strong to save; Pray, then, that freedom’s cause be blest, Your brother is a Slave!

O toil, ye friends of freedom, toil! Your mission to fulfil,-- That Freedom’s consecrated soil Slaves may no longer till; Ay, toil and pray from deep disgrace Your native land to save; Weep o’er the miseries of your race, Your Brother is a slave!