Classic Poem

Ye who in bondage pine,
Shut out from light divine,
Bereft of hope!
Whose limbs are worn with chains,
Whose tears bedew our plains,
Whose blood our glory stains,
In gloom who grope!

Shout! for the hour draws nigh,
That gives you liberty;
And, from the dust,—
So long your vile embrace,—
Uprising, take your place
Among earth's noblest race,
'Tis right and just.

The night—the long dark night
Of infamy and slight,
Shame and disgrace,
Of slavery—worse than e'er
Rome's slaves were doom'd to bear,
Horrid beyond compare—
Recedes apace.

Speed, speed the hour, O Lord!
Speak, and at thy dread word,
Fetters shall fall
From every limb—the strong
No more the weak shall wrong,
But Liberty's sweet song
Be sung by all.