Till all our land with freeborn men,
May join in one triumphant shout,
That freedom’s banner does not wave
Its folds above a single slave.
O, PITY THE SLAVE MOTHER!
Air—Araby’s Daughter.
I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary,
Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast;
I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary,