Sons of the boasted free.
Who prize your liberty
'Bove Southern trade;
Your fathers in their graves,
Shall they behold you Slaves,
Ruled o'er by arrant knaves,
You've masters made?


When Slavery 'plies her whip,
And lets her " blood hounds " slip
To seize her prey,—
And bids you join her clan,—
To help her steal a MAN,
And place him 'neath her ban,—
Will you obey?


Extinguished are the fires,
Once kindled by your sires,
In Freedom's cause?
And has the spirit fled,
Which moved those " Heroes, " dead,
Before which " Tyrants " sped,
' Mid loud huzzas?


Have you those days forgot,
On many a hallowed spot
When " Heroes " fell?
When men who spurned the chain,
Poured out their blood like rain,
That they might Freedom gain,—
In peace might dwell?


Let all who would be Men
By Deed, —and Tongue, —and Pen,
Join hand in hand;
Swear that on "Pilgrim soil,"
Where hardy Freemen toil,—
The " Tyrants " power to spoil,
They'll firmly band!


Let all join in the prayer:—
Lord, here a place prepare,
For " Freedom's " home;—
Where sleep our honored dead,
Here let no " Despot " tread,—
No " Traitor " lift his head,—
The good time come!