So you’ve convicted old John Brown! brave old Brown of Osawatomie!
And you gave him a chivalrous trial, lying groaning on the floor,
With his body ripped with gashes, deaf with pain from sabre slashes,
Over the head received, when the deadly fight was o’er;
Round him guns with lighted matches, judge and lawyers pale as ashes—
For he might, perhaps, come to again, and put you all to flight,
Or surround you, as before!
You think, no doubt, you’ve tried John Brown, but he’s laid there trying you,
And the world has been his jury, and its judgment’s swift and true:
Over the globe the tale has rung, back to your hearts the verdict’s flung,