Unheeding the clamor that “maddens the skies,”
As ye trample the rights of your dark fellow-men?
When the incense that glows before Liberty’s shrine,
Is unmixed with the blood of the galled and oppressed,—
O, then, and then only, the boast may be thine,
That the stripes and stars wave o’er a land of the blest.
THE SLAVE AUCTION—A FACT.
Air—Good bye.