Blush, Christian, blush! for e'en the dark Untutored heathen see Thy inconsistency, and lo!

They scorn thy G.o.d, and thee!

GET OFF THE TRACK.

Air--Dan Tucker.

Ho! the car Emanc.i.p.ation Rides majestic thro' our nation, Bearing on its train the story, Liberty! a nation's glory.

Roll it along, thro' the nation, Freedom's car, Emanc.i.p.ation!

First of all the train, and greater, Speeds the dauntless Liberator, Onward cheered amid hosannas, And the waving of free banners.

Roll it along! spread your banners, While the people shout hosannas.

Men of various predilections, Frightened, run in all directions; Merchants, editors, physicians, Lawyers, priests, and politicians.

Get out of the way! every station!

Clear the track of 'manc.i.p.ation!

Let the ministers and churches Leave behind sectarian lurches; Jump on board the car of Freedom, Ere it be too late to need them.

Sound the alarm! Pulpits thunder!

Ere too late you see your blunder!

Politicians gazed, astounded, When, at first, our bell resounded; _Freight trains_ are coming, tell these foxes, With our _votes_ and _ballot boxes_.

Jump for your lives! politicians, From your dangerous, false positions.

All true friends of Emanc.i.p.ation, Haste to Freedom's railroad station; Quick into the cars get seated, All is ready and completed.

Put on the steam! all are crying, And the liberty flags are flying.

Now again the bell is tolling, Soon you'll see the car-wheels rolling; Hinder not their destination, Chartered for Emanc.i.p.ation.

Wood up the fire! keep it flashing, While the train goes onward dashing.

Hear the mighty car-wheels humming!

Now look out! _the Engine's coming!_ Church and statesmen! hear the thunder!

Clear the track or you'll fall under.

Get off the track! all are singing, While the _Liberty bell_ is ringing.

On, triumphant see them bearing, Through sectarian rubbish tearing; The bell and whistle and the steaming, Startle thousands from their dreaming.

Look out for the cars while the bell rings!

Ere the sound your funeral knell rings.

See the people run to meet us; At the depots thousands greet us; All take seats with exultation, In the Car Emanc.i.p.ation.

Huzza! Huzza!! Emanc.i.p.ation Soon will bless our happy nation, Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!!!

BE FREE, O MAN, BE FREE.

The storm-winds wildly blowing, The bursting billows mock, As with their foam-crests glowing, They dash the sea-girt rock; Amid the wild commotion, The revel of the sea, A voice is on the ocean, Be free, O man, be free.

Behold the sea-brine leaping High in the murky air; List to the tempest sweeping In chainless fury there.

What moves the mighty torrent, And bids it flow abroad?

Or turns the rapid current?

What, but the voice of G.o.d?

Then, answer, is the spirit Less n.o.ble or less free?

From whom does it inherit The doom of slavery?

When man can bind the waters, That they no longer roll, Then let him forge the fetters To clog the human soul.

Till then a voice is stealing From earth and sea and sky, And to the soul revealing Its immortality.

The swift wind chants the numbers Careering o'er the sea, And earth, aroused from slumbers, Re-echoes, "Man, be free."

THE FUGITIVE SLAVE TO THE CHRISTIAN.

The fetters galled my weary soul-- A soul that seemed but thrown away; I spurned the tyrant's base control, Resolved at last the man to play:-- The hounds are baying on my track; O Christian! will you send me back?

I felt the stripes, the lash I saw, Red, dripping with a father's gore; And worst of all their lawless law, The insults that my mother bore!

The hounds are baying on my track, O Christian! will you send me back?

Where human law o'errules Divine, Beneath the sheriff's hammer fell My wife and babes,--I call them mine,-- And where they suffer, who can tell?

The hounds are baying on my track, O Christian! will you send me back?

I seek a home where man is man, If such there be upon this earth, To draw my kindred, if I can, Around its free, though humble hearth.

The hounds are baying on my track, O Christian! will you send me back?

RESCUE THE SLAVE!

AIR--The Troubadour.

This song was composed while George Latimer, the fugitive slave, was confined in Leverett Street Jail, Boston, expecting to be carried back to Virginia by James B. Gray, his claimant.

Sadly the fugitive weeps in his cell, Listen awhile to the story we tell; Listen ye gentle ones, listen ye brave, Lady fair! Lady fair! weep for the slave.

Praying for liberty, dearer than life, Torn from his little one, torn from his wife, Flying from slavery, hear him and save, Christian men! Christian men! help the poor slave.

Think of his agony, feel for his pain, Should his hard master e'er hold him again; Spirit of liberty, rise from your grave, Make him free, make him free, rescue the slave.

Freely the slave master goes where he will; Freemen, stand ready, his wishes to fulfil, Helping the tyrant, or honest or knave, Thinking not, caring not, for the poor slave.

Talk not of liberty, liberty is dead; See the slave master's whip over our head; Stooping beneath it, we ask what he craves, Boston boys! Boston boys! catch me my slaves.

Freemen, arouse ye, before it's too late; Slavery is knocking, at every gate, Make good the promise, your early days gave, Boston boys! Boston boys! rescue the slave.