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CLERICAL OPPRESSORS.

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

In the Report of the celebrated pro-slavery meeting in Charleston, S. C., on the 4th of the 9th month, 1835, published in the Courier of that city, it is stated, "The CLERGY of all denominations attended in a body, LENDING THEIR SANCTION TO THE PROCEEDINGS, and adding by their presence to the impres. sive character of the scene!"

Just God!-and these are they

Who minister at Thine altar, God of Right!
Men who their hands with prayer and blessing lay
On Israel's Ark of light!

What! preach and kidnap men?
Give thanks-and rob Thy own afflicted poor?
Talk of Thy glorious liberty, and then

Bolt hard the captive's door?

What! servants of Thy own

Merciful Son, who came to seek and save
The homeless and the outcast,-fettering down
The task'd and plunder'd slave!

Pilate and Herod, friends!

Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine!
Just God and holy! is that church which lends
Strength to the spoiler, Thine?

Paid hypocrites, who turn

Judgment aside, and rob the Holy Book

Of those high words of truth which search and burn In warning and rebuke.

Feed fat, ye locusts, feed!

And, in your tassel'd pulpits, thank the Lord
That, from the toiling bondman's utter need,
Ye pile your own full board.

How long, O Lord! how long
Shall such a Priesthood barter truth away,
And, in Thy name, for robbery and wrong
At Thy own altars pray?

Is not thy hand stretch'd forth
Visibly in the heavens, to awe and smite?
Shall not the living God of all the earth,
And heaven above, do right?

Woe, then, to all who grind

Their brethren of a Common Father down!
To all who plunder from th' immortal mind
Its bright and glorious crown!

Woe to the Priesthood! woe

To those whose hire is with the price of blood—
Perverting, darkening, changing as they go,
The searching truths of God!

Their glory and their might

Shall perish; and their very names shall be
Vile before all the people, in the light

Of A WORLD'S LIBERTY.

Oh! speed the moment on

When Wrong shall cease-and Liberty, and Love, And Truth, and Right, throughout the earth be known As in their home above.

TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS SHIPLEY. President of the Pennsylvania Abolition Society, who died on the 17th of the 9th month, 1836, a devoted Christian and Philanthropist.

BY JOHN G. WHITTIER.

Gone to thy Heavenly Father's rest!
The flowers of Eden round thee blowing,
And on thine ear the murmurs blest

Of Shiloah's waters softly flowing!
Beneath that Tree of Life which gives
To all the earth its healing leaves!
In the white robe of angels clad!

And wandering by that sacred river,
Whose streams of holiness make glad
The city of our God for ever!

Gentlest of spirits!-not for thee

Our tears are shed-our sighs are given: Why mourn to know thou art a free

Partaker of the joys of Heaven?
Finish'd thy work, and kept thy faith
In Christian firmness unto death;
And beautiful as sky and earth,

When Autumn's sun is downward going,
The blessed memory of thy worth
Around thy place of slumber glowing!

But woe for us! who linger still

With feebler strength and hearts less lowly,
And minds less steadfast to the will
Of Him whose every work is holy.
For not like thine, is crucified
The spirit of our human pride;
And at the bondman's tale of woe,

And for the outcast and forsaken,
Not warm like thine, but cold and slow,
Our weaker sympathies awaken.

Darkly upon our struggling way

The storm of human hate is sweeping; Hunted and branded, and a prey,

Our watch amidst the darkness keeping! Oh! for that hidden strength which can Nerve unto death the inner man! Oh! for thy spirit, tried and true, And constant in the hour of trial, Prepared to suffer, or to do,

In meekness and in self-denial.

Oh! for that spirit, meek and mild, Derided, spurned, yet uncomplaining

By man deserted and reviled,

Yet faithful to its trust remaining.

Still prompt and resolute to save
From scourge and chain the hunted slave!
Unwavering in the Truth's defence,

Even where the fires of Hate are burning, Th' unquailing eye of innocence

Alone upon th' oppressor turning!

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THE VOICE OF BLOOD.

BY J. BLANCHARD.

Elijah Parrish Lovejoy was shot down by a mob at Alton Illinois, 11th mo. 7th, 1837, for exercising in his paper his right of free speech with regard to American Slavery.

I'm the voice of blood! and I wail along
As the winds sweep sullenly by ;
All choked and still is its wonted song,
As soft, or solemn, or brisk, or strong,

It sung to the answering sky.

One breath, one shuddering breath-a moan
Like the flap of a pall on a coffin of stone,
Or a dead man's long last sigh!

It comes to thee, ALTON, by day or by night,
Where Freedom's champion stood;

And the child, when he hears it, shall cry for light,
Though the sun is high, and the day is bright;
And the mother, in frantic mood,
Shall shriek as it mutters, the cradle near,
In a whisper so loud that the dead might hear,
"I AM BLOOD!-THE VOICE of blood!"

In street, lane, and alley, in parlor and hall,
That sepulchre voice is there
Crying-Hear, hear the martyr's imploring call!
O God! see the blood!-how it follows the ball,
As he sinks like the song of despair;
But I come the precursor of sorrow, I come
In church-aisle and dwelling, in cellar and dome,
To cry with the tongue of the air;—

"O could ye not hear when the young mother plead For the babe starting wild by her side?— Must her husband's cold bosom then pillow her head, And her warm kiss, impressed on the lips of the dead,

Excite no emotion but pride!

I tell thee, Proud City, the vengeance of God,
Shall be felt, if not feared, on thy Golgotha sod,
Where the Martyr of Liberty died.'”

Rouse, rouse thee!-or purchase for Freedom a
shroud,

And bury your hopes in her grave,—
Then, hush'd be the glee of your laborers proud,
As, driven with the mule and the ass, in a crowd
They slink to the task of a slave,

With a curse on their lip and a scowl in their eye,
As they mope by your tomb-stones and tauntingly

cry

"Ho! here go the sons of the brave?"

ELIJAH P. LOVEJOY.

BY WILLIAM H. BURLEIGH.

Weep-for a brother fallen!--weep for him
Who first hath found a glorious martyrdom!
Weep for the broken heart!-the desolate home,
Whose light of gladness is for ever dim!
Who of us, next, on Slavery's bloody altar

Shall meet his doom? Thou only knowest, God!
Yet will we tread the path our brother trod,
Trusting in Thee! Our spirits shall not falter
Amid the darkness of the coming strife,

Though drunk with agony the soul should reel!
Here, LOVEJOY! on thy bloody grave we kneel,
And pledge anew our fortune-honor-life-
All-for the slave!

Farewell!-thy rest is won!
One tear for thee-then, strengthened, press we on!

WENDELL PHILLIPS.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

He stood upon the world's broad threshold; wide
The din of battle and of slaughter rose;

He saw God stand upon the weaker side,
That sank in seeming loss before its foes;

Wake, wake, ILLINOIS! for through prairie and Many there were who made great haste and sold glen

There is blood!-there's the voice of blood!
It bids thee arouse, or the rust on their chain
Shall scar the fair necks of your daughters—a stain
Bleach'd alone by your hearts' hot flood;
Your sons low in manacles crouch at your feet
Where the prairie-fowl starts at the young lamb-
kins' bleat,

In the fields where your free dwellings stood.

Unto the cunning enemy their swords;

He scorned their gifts of fame, and power, and gold,
And, underneath their soft and flowery words,
Heard the cold serpent hiss; therefore he went
And humbly joined him to the weaker part,
Fanatic named, and fool, yet well content

So he could be the nearer to God's heart,
And feel its solemn pulses sending blood
Through all the wide spread veins of endless good.

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THE TOCSIN.

BY JOHN PIERPONT.

If the pulpit be silent, whenever or wherever there may be a sinner, bloody with this guilt, within the hearing of its voice, the pulpit is false to its trust.-D. WEBSTER. Wake! children of the men who said,

All are born free!'-Their spirits come
Back to the places where they bled

In Freedom's holy martyrdom,
And find you sleeping on their graves,
And hugging there your chains,-ye slaves!
Ay,-slaves of slaves! What, sleep ye yet,
And dream of Freedom, while ye sleep?
Ay,-dream, while Slavery's foot is set
So firmly on your necks,-while deep
The chain, her quivering flesh endures,
Gnaws, like a cancer, into yours?
Hah! say ye that I've falsely spoken,

Calling you slaves?—Then prove ye're not;
Work a free press !-ye'll see it broken;*
Stand to defend it!-ye'll be shot.-t
O yes! but people should not dare
Print what the brotherhood' won't bear !

Then from your lips let words of grace,
Gleaned from the Holy Bible's pages,

Fall, while ye're pleading for a race

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Whose blood has flowed through chains for ages;
And pray,-
Lord, let thy kingdom come!'
And see if ye're not stricken dumb.

Yes, men of God! ye may not speak,
As, by the Word of God, ye're bidden;
By the pressed lip,-the blanching cheek,
Ye feel yourselves rebuked and chidden;
And, if ye're not cast out, ye fear it ;-
And why? The brethren' will not hear it.
Since, then, through pulpit, or through press,
To prove your freedom ye're not able,
Go,-like the Sun of Righteousness,
By wise men honored,-to a stable!
Bend there to Liberty your knee!
Say there that God made all men free!

*Bear witness, heights of Alton! + Bear witness, bones of Lovejoy!

Bear witness, Grounds of Complaint preferred against the Rev. John Pierpont, by a Committtee of the Parish, called "The Proprietors of Hollis street Meeting house," to be submitted to an Ecclesiastical Council, as Reasons for dissolving his Connexion with said Parish, July 27th, 1840: one of which runs thus: Because of his too busy interference with questions of legislation on the subject of prohibiting the sale of ardent spirits ;-of his too busy interference with questions of legislation on the subject of imprisonment for debt;-of his too busy interference with the popular controversy on the subject of the abolition of slavery.' And this, in the eighteen hundred and fortieth year of Him whom the Lord sent to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound!'

Even there,-ere Freedom's vows ye've plighted,
Ere of her form ye've caught a glimpse,
Even there are fires infernal lighted,

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And ye're driven out by Slavery's imps.*
Ah, well! so persecuted they
The prophets' of a former day!
Go, then, and build yourselves a hall,
To prove ye are not slaves, but men!
Write FREEDOM,' on its towering wall!
Baptize it in the name of PENN;
And give it to her holy cause,
Beneath the Ægis of her laws;-
Within let Freedom's anthem swell;-
And, while your hearts begin to throb,
And burn within you Hark! the yell,—

The torch, the torrent of the MOB!-
They're Slavery's troops that round you sweep,
And leave your hall a smouldering heap!†
At Slavery's beck, the prayers ye urge

On your own servants, through the door
Of your own Senate,-that the scourge

May gash your brother's back no more,—
Are trampled underneath their feet,
While ye stand praying in the street!
At Slavery's beck, ye send your sons
To hunt down Indian wives or maids,
Doomed to the lash!-Yes, and their bones,
Whitening 'mid swamps and everglades,
Where no friend goes to give them graves,
Prove that ye are not Slavery's slaves!
At Slavery's beck, the very hands

Ye lift to Heaven, to swear ye're free,
Will break a truce, to seize the lands
Of Seminole or Cherokee!

Yes,-tear a flag, that Tartar hordes
Respect, and shield it with their swords!§

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* Bear witness, that large upper room,' the hay-loft over the stable of the Marlborough Hotel, standing upon the ground now covered by the Marlborough Chapel; the only temple in Boston, into which the friends of human liberty, that is, of the liberty of man as man, irrespective of color or caste, could gain admittance for the annual meeting of the Massachusetts Anti-Slavery Society, January 25th, 1837. witness, too, that smaller room in Summer street, where a meeting was held the same day, by members of the same Society; where their only altar was an iron stove,--their only incense, the fumes of a quantity of cayenne pepper, that some of the 'imps' had sprinkled upon the hot stove-plates, to drive the friends of the freedom of all men out of that little asylum.

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+Bear witness, ye ruins of Pennsylvania Hall!'-a heap of ruins made by a Philadelphia mob, May 17th, 1838,--and allowed to remain a heap of ruins, as I was lately told in Philadelphia, from the fear, on the part of the city government, that, should the noble structure be reared again, and dedicated again to Liberty, the fiery tragedy of the 17th of May would be encored.

Bear witness, Florida war, from first to last. § Bear witness, ghost of the great-hearted, brokenhearted Osceola !

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