41
Winter and night were on the earth, And feebly moaned the shivering trees,A sigh of winter seemed to run Through every murmur of the breeze.
She fled, and with her children all, She reached the stream and crossed it o'er,Bright visions of deliverance came Like dreams of plenty to the poor.
Dreams! vain dreams, heroic mother, Give all thy hopes and struggles o'er,The pursuer is on thy track, And the hunter at thy door.
Judea's refuge cities had power To shelter, shield and save,E'en Rome had altars: 'neath whose shade Might crouch the wan and weary slave.
But Ohio had no sacred fane, To human rights so consecrate,Where thou may'st shield thy hapless ones From their darkly gathering fate.
Then, said the mournful mother, If Ohio cannot save,I will do a deed for freedom, She shall find each child a grave.
