Where the sloth of the negro, cries aloud to the sky
And his vices tho’ varied, in horror may vie
With those crimes of man that are deepest in dye.
Where whites must bow down, if the negroes combine
For is not a nigger a spirit divine?
’Tis the land of the negro who once was a slave
How has he deserved the freedom we gave?
’Tis the clime of the west, ’tis the land of the sun
Can he smile on the deeds that these darkies have done?
Oh! fierce as the accents of foemen’s farewell