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He did not feel the driver's whip,

Nor the burning heat of day;
For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep,

And his lifeless body lay
A worn-out fetter, that the soul

Had broken and thrown away!

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She dwells by Great Kennawa's side,

In valleys green and cool;
And all her hope and all her pride

Are in the village school.

Her soul, like the transparent air

That robes the hills above, Though not of earth, encircles there

All things with arms of love,

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And this she walks


her girls With praise and mild rebukes ! Subduing e'en rude village churls

By her angelic looks.

She reads to them at eventide

Of One who came to save ;
To cast the captive's chains aside,

And liberate the slave.

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When all men shall be free;
And musical, as silver bells,

Their falling chains shall be.

And following her beloved Lord,

In decent poverty,
She makes her life one sweet record

And deed of charity.

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For she was rich, and gave up

To break the iron bands
Of those who waited in her hall,

And labored in her lands.

Long since beyond the Southern Sea

Their outbound sails have sped,
While she, in meek humility,

Now earns her daily bread

It is their prayers, which never ceas:

That clothe her with such grace ;
Their blessing is the light of peace

That shines upon her face.



In laik fens of the Dismal Swamp

The hunted Negro lay;
He saw the fire of the midnight camp
And heard at times a horse's tramp

And a bloodhound's distant bay.

Where will-o'-the wisps and glowworms shine,

In bulrush and in brake ; Where waving mosses shrcud the pine, And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine

Is spotted like the snake;

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