And bright crowns of glory he’ll give you in heaven.
LAMENT OF THE FUGITIVE SLAVE.
“My child, we must soon part to meet no more this side of the grave. You have ever said that you would not die a slave; that you would be a freeman. Now try to get your liberty!”—W. W. Brown’s Narrative.
I’ve wandered out beneath the moon-lit heaven,
Lost mother! loved and dear,
To every beam a magic power seems given
To bring thy spirit near;
For though the breeze of freedom fans my brow,
My soul still turns to thee! oh, where art thou?