We hear the proclamation, massa, hush it as you will;
The birds will sing it to us, hopping on the cotton hill;
The 'possum up the gum-tree couldn't keep it still,
As he went climbing ow.—Cho.
Father Abraham has spoken, and the message has been sent;
The prison doors have opened, and out the prisoners went.
To join the sable army of African descent,
As we go marching on.—Cho.
The following original poem was sung at the close of a meeting, in which American slavery was discussed, at New Lisbon, Ohio:
I am pleading for my people—
A poor, down-trodden race.
Who dwell in freedom's boasted land,
With no abiding place.
I am pleading that my people
May have their rights astored [restored],
For they have long been toiling.
And yet had no reward.
They are forced the crops to culture.
But not for them they yield,
Although both late and early
They labor in the field.
Whilst I bear upon my body
The scars of many a gash,
I am pleading for my people
Who groan beneath the lash.
I am pleading for the mothers
Who gaze in wild despair
Upon the hated auction-block,
And see their children there.
I feel for those in bondage—
Well may I feel for them;
I know how fiendish hearts can be
That sell their fellow-men.
