’Twill bring disunion, fear and pain;
’Twill rouse at last the souther’s ire,
And burst our starry land in twain.
Theirs is the high, the noble worth,
The very soul of chivalry;
Rend not our blood-bought land apart,
For such a thing as slavery.
This is the language of the North,
I shame to say it, but ’tis true;
And anti-slavery calls it forth,