ABSTRACT
America America, it is to thee, Thou boasted land of liberty, — It is to thee I raise my song, Thou land of blood, and crime, and wrong. It is to thee, my native land, From whence has issued many a band To tear the black man from his soil, And force him here to delve and toil; Chained on your blood-bemoistened sod, Cringing beneath a tyrant's rod, Stripped of those rights which Nature's God
Bequeathed to all the human race, Bound to a petty tyrant's nod,
Because he wears a paler face. Was it for this, that freedom's fires Were kindled by your patriot sires? Was it for this, they shed their blood, On hill and plain, on field and flood? Was it for this, that wealth and life Were staked upon that desperate strife, Which drenched this land for seven long years With blood of men, and women's tears? When black and white fought side by side,
Upon the well-contested field,— Turned back the fierce opposing tide,
And made the proud invader yieldWhen, wounded, side by side they lay,
And heard with joy the proud hurrah From their victorious comrades say
That they had waged successful war, The thought ne'er entered in their brains That they endured those toils and pains, To forge fresh fetters, heavier chains
For their own children, in whose veins Should flow that patriotic blood, So freely shed on field and flood. Oh no; they fought, as they believed,
For the inherent rights of man; But mark, how they have been deceived
By slavery's accursed plan. They never thought, when thus they shed
Their heart's best blood, in freedom's cause, That their own sons would live in dread,
Under unjust, oppressive laws: That those who quietly enjoyed
The rights for which they fought and fell, Could be the framers of a code,
That would disgrace the fiends of hell! Could they have looked, with prophet's ken,
Down to the present evil time, Seen free-born men, uncharged with crime,
Consigned unto a slaver's pen,— Or thrust into a prison cell, With thieves and murderers to dwellWhile that same flag whose stripes and stars Had been their guide through freedom's wars As proudly waved above the pen Of dealers in the souls of men! Or could the shades of all the dead,
Who fell beneath that starry flag, Visit the scenes where they once bled,
On hill and plain, on vale and crag, By peaceful brook, or ocean's strand,
By inland lake, or dark green wood, Where'er the soil of this wide land
Was moistened by their patriot blood,— And then survey the country o'er,
From north to south, from east to west, And hear the agonizing cry Ascending up to God on high, From western wilds to ocean's shore,
The fervent prayer of the oppressed; The cry of helpless infancy
Torn from the parent's fond caress By some base tool of tyranny,
And doomed to woe and wretchedness; The indignant wail of fiery youth,
Its noble aspirations crushed, Its generous zeal, its love of truth,
Trampled by tyrants in the dust; The aerial piles which fancy reared,
And hopes too bright to be enjoyed, Have passed and left his young heart seared,
And all its dreams of bliss destroyed. The shriek of virgin purity,
Doomed to some libertine's embrace, Should rouse the strongest sympathy
Of each one of the human race; And weak old age, oppressed with care,
As he reviews the scene of strife, Puts up to God a fervent prayer,
To close his dark and troubled life. The cry of fathers, mothers, wives,
Severed from all their hearts hold dear, And doomed to spend their wretched lives
In gloom, and doubt, and hate, and fear: And manhood, too, with soul of fire, And arm of strength, and smothered ire, Stands pondering with brow of gloom, Upon his dark unhappy doom, Whether to plunge in battle's strife, And buy his freedom with his life, And with stout heart and weapon strong, Pay back the tyrant wrong for wrong, Or wait the promised time of God,
When his Almighty ire shall wake, And smite the oppressor in his wrath, And hurl red ruin in his path, And with the terrors of his rod,
Cause adamantine hearts to quake. Here Christian writhes in bondage still,
Beneath his brother Christian's rod, And pastors trample down at will,
The image of the living God. While prayers go up in lofty strains,
And pealing hymns ascend to heaven, The captive, toiling in his chains,
With tortured limbs and bosom riven, Raises his fettered hand on high,
And in the accents of despair, To him who rules both earth and sky,
Puts up a sad, a fervent prayer, To free him from the awful blast
Of slavery's bitter galling shameAlthough his portion should be cast
With demons in eternal flame! Almighty God! 'tis this they call
The land of liberty and law; Part of its sons in baser thrall
Than Babylon or Egypt sawWorse scenes of rapine, lust and shame,
Than Babylonian ever knew, Are perpetrated in the name
Of God, the holy, just, and true; And darker doom than Egypt felt, May yet repay this nation's guilt. Almighty God! thy aid impart, And fire anew each faltering heart, And strengthen every patriot's hand, Who aims to save our native land. We do not come before thy throne,
With carnal weapons drenched in gore, Although our blood has freely flown,
In adding to the tyrant's store. Father! before thy throne we come,
Not in the panoply of war, With pealing trump, and rolling drum,
And cannon booming loud and far; Striving in blood to wash out blood,
Through wrong to seek redress for wrong; For while thou 'rt holy, just and good,
The battle is not to the strong; But in the sacred name of peace,
124 JAMES MONROE WHITFIELD
And last of all, the immortal Nine, With music, verse, and eloquence,—
Naiads and Nymphs, a numerous train, Came thronging through the ample fane. Peris, from eastern regions came,
Bearing aloft the sacred fire, Which Zoroaster, son of flame,
Kindled on Mithra's ancient pyre. The dark-eyed maids who wait to greet
The Moslem brave in Paradise, Forsook awhile their blissful seat,
And left the region of the skies, The palm of beauty to dispute With sovereign Jove's immortal suit. And as I sat, entranced, amazed,
With radiant beauty circled round, Thy form, high o'er the rest upraised,
Appeared, with brighter splendor crowned, And every eye was turned on thee,
Of Houri, Peri, Goddess, Grace, As, bright in peerless majesty,
You mounted to the highest place. Juno resigned her crown to thee,
Venus her zone of love unbound, While haughty Pallas bowed the knee,
And laid her armor on the ground. The Muses, also, owned thee queen
Of music, eloquence, and verse, And tuned their lyres and harps, I ween,
Thy matchless praises to rehearse. The Peri owned thy dazzling eye
Might kindle far a brighter fire Than that which erst blazed to the sky,
On many an oriental pyre, There lighting up with ray divine, The ancient Gheber's fiery shrine. The Houris owned that could thy charms
Be viewed from regions of the skies, 'T would tempt the faithful from their arms,
And all the joys of Paradise;
Or were the Prophet's self on earth, And but a glimpse of thee were given,
He'd own one smile of thine were worth All pleasures of his highest Heaven;
And from the Moslem creed erase That portion so unjustly given,
Which shuts one half the human race Forever from the joys of Heaven.
