We have a goodly clime,
Broad vales and streams we boast,
Our mountain frontiers frown sublime,
Old Ocean guards our coast;
Suns bless our harvest fair,
With fervid smile serene,
But a dark shade is gathering there! —
What can its blackness mean?
We have a birthright proud,
For our young sons to claim,
An eagle soaring o'er the cloud,
In freedom and in fame;
We have a scutcheon bright,
By our dear fathers bought, —
A fearful blot distains its white,
Who hath such evil wrought?
Our banner o'er the sea
Looks forth with starry eye,
Emblazoned, glorious, bold, and free,
A letter on the sky.
What hand, with shameful stain,
Hath marred its heavenly blue ?
The yoke! the fetters! and the chain !
Say, are these emblems true ?
This day[1] doth music rare
Swell through our nation's bound,
But Afric's wailing mingles there,
And Heaven doth hear the sound!
O God of power! we turn
In penitence to thee;
Bid our loved land the lesson learn, —
To bid the slave be free.Mrs. L. H. Sigourney.
- ↑ Fourth of July.
