Peace, then, ye blasphemers of Liberty’s name!
Though red was the blood by your forefathers spilt,
Still redder your cheeks should be mantled with shame,
Till the spirit of freedom shall cancel the guilt.
But the brand of the slave is the tint of his skin,
Though his heart may beat loyal and true underneath;
While the soul of the tyrant is rotten within,
And his white the mere cloak to the blackness of death.
Are ye deaf to the plaints that each moment arise?
Is it thus ye forget the mild precepts of Penn,—