Prayer of the Colored Mother, etc.
Again, the gospel precepts give,
Teach them this rule to know,
Such treatment as ye would receive,
Be willing to bestow.
Prayer of a Colored Mother, etc.
That this, my child, my only one-
May never feel the smart
Of this unjust and cruel scorn,
That withers all the heart.
Great Father! who created all,
The colored and the fair :
Oh! listen to a mother's call,
Hear Thou, the negro's prayer.
My hopes were crushed, my heart appalled,
With this most foul disgrace;
And then my teacher stupid called
All creatures of my race!
Whene'er upon the Sabbath morn,
I've sought the house of prayer,
My soul has sunk beneath the scorn
The white man carries there.
Must thou, my child-my only one-
Must thou, too, feel the smart
Of this unjust and cruel scorn,
That withers all the heart?
For cause beyond thy weak control,
Has God for the desingned
This degredation of the soul,
This slavery of the mind?
No scriptures say, that of one blood,
Has God created all
The nations he has spread abroad,
Upon this earthly ball.
Hymn for the Monthly Concert.
HOLY Father, God of love,
Send thy spirit from above;
Help us thy great name to sing,
God of mercy, heavenly King.
For the burdened slave would we
Ask the gift of liberty;
For the weary souls oppressed,
We would ask thy peace and rest.
In thy gracious love arise,—
See his burden,-hear his cries,-
Rend his fetters,-set him free
From oppression's tyranny.
Then his thankful voice shall raise
Songs to thee of grateful praise:
Thy great love shall be his theme,
He shall own thee, Lord, supreme.
SOON shall the trump of freedom
Resound from shore to shore ;
Soon, taught by heavenly wisdom,
Man shall oppress no more:
But every yoke be broken,
Each captive soul set free—
And every heart shall welcome
The day of Jubilee.
Military Celebration of the Fourth of July.
I hate that noisy drum !—It is a sound
That's full of war and bondage,—and I blush
That Liberty had ever cause to rush
Into a warrior's arms-that right e'er found
Asylum in the furious field. Not so
The holy crowns of genuine glory grow
The Day of Jubilee.
Then tyrants' crowns and sceptres,
And victors' wreaths, and cars,
And galling chains, and fetters,
With all the pomp of wars,
Shall in the dust be trodden,
Till time shall be no more :
And peace, and joy, from heaven
The Lord on earth shall pour
Not there should they who bear the badge serene
Of him who was the Prince of Peace be seen.
Can such his faithful followers be ?-O no!
His laurels are not drenched in blood, but green
And beautiful as spring :-His arms are love,
And mercy, and forgiveness ;-and with these
He rules the nations' mighty destines-
And gently leads us to our homes above.
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