by George Moses Horton

    Alas！ and am I born for this，

    To wear this slavish chain？

    Deprived of all created bliss，

    Through hardship， toil， and pain！

    How long have I in bondage lain，

    And languished to be free！

    Alas！ and must I still complain

    Deprived of liberty.

    Oh， Heaven！ and is there no relief

    This side the silent grave

    To soothe the pain to quell the grief

    And anguish of a slave？

    Come， Liberty， thou cheerful sound，

    Roll through my ravished ears！

    Come， let my grief in joys be drowned，

    And drive away my fears.

    Say unto foul oppression， Cease：

    Ye tyrants rage no more，

    And let the joyful trump of peace，

    Now bid the vassal soar.

    Soar on the pinions of that dove

    Which long has cooed for thee，

    And breathed her notes from Afric's grove，

    The sound of Liberty.

    Oh， Liberty！ thou golden prize，

    So often sought by blood

    We crave thy sacred sun to rise，

    The gift of nature's God！

    Bid Slavery hide her haggard face，

    And barbarism fly：

    I scorn to see the sad disgrace

    In which enslaved I lie.

    Dear Liberty！ upon thy breast，

    I languish to respire；

    And like the Swan upon her nest，

    I'd to thy smiles retire.

    Oh， blest asylum heavenly balm！

    Unto thy boughs I flee

    And in thy shades the storm shall calm，

    With songs of Liberty！