Classic Poem

The hour of freedom! come it must —
Oh! hasten it in mercy, Heav'n!
When all, who grovel in the dust,
Shall stand erect, their fetters riv'n.

When glorious freedom shall be won
By ev'ry caste, complexion, clime;
When tyranny shall be o'erthrown,
And color cease to be a crime!

Friend of the poor, long-suff'ring Lord!
This guilty land from ruin save;
Let Justice sheathe her glitt'ring sword,
And Mercy rescue from the grave.

And ye, who are like cattle sold,
Ignobly trodden like the earth,
And barter'd constantly for gold —
Your souls debas'd from their high birth —

Bear meekly still your cruel woes,
Light follows darkness — comfort, pain;
So time shall give you sweet repose,
And sever ev'ry hateful chain.