Classic Poem

Sister! were thy brother bleeding,
Shedding slavery's scalding tear,
If for him we now came pleading,
Should we meet the cruel sneer?

Daughter! were thy parent weeping,
Clanking now the iron chain,
Should we come and find thee sleeping,—
Rouse thee, but to plead in vain?

Mother! were thy nursling taken
From thee by a ruffian hand,
Should we find thee now unshaken—
Hear thee say—“'Tis God's command?”

Shouldst thou see thy lov'd and chosen—
Thy fond husband sold for gain,
Thou wouldst deem that bosom frozen,
That should heedless know thy pain.

Why then loiter, freedom's daughter!
Hear ye not the plaintive tone,
Wafted from the field of slaughter?
'Tis a sister's dying moan!

Sisters! mothers! lift your voices,
Join, the cursed chain to break;
Onward, till the slave rejoices,
Freed from bondage; wake—oh! wake.