Nor charters nor unions its mandates shall check,
’Twill cry, in God’s name, “Go break every yoke,”—
Like the tempests of Heaven, shaking mountain and sea,
Shall the North tell the South, “Let the bondman go free.”
Great God! hasten on the glad jubilee,
When my brother in bonds shall arise and be free;
And our blotted escutcheon be washed from its stains,
Now the scorn of the world—Three Millions in chains!
O! then shall Columbia’s proud flag be unfurled,
The glory of freemen, and pride of the world,