God said, “I am tired of kings,
I suffer them no more;
Up to my ear the morning brings
The outrage of the poor.

“My angel—his name is Freedom—
Choose him to be your king;
He shall cut pathways east and west,
And fend you with his wing.

“Lo! I uncover the land
Which I hid of old time in the West,
As the sculptor uncovers the statue
When he has wrought his best;

“I show Columbia, of the rocks
Which dip their foot in the seas,
And soar to the air-borne flocks
Of clouds, and the boreal fleece.

“I will divide my goods;
Call in the wretch and slave:
None shall rule but the humble,
And none but toil shall have.

“I will have never a noble,
No lineage counted great;
Fishers and shoppers and plowmen
Shall constitute a state.

“Today unbind the captive:
So only are ye unbound.
Lift up a people from the dust;
Trump of their rescue, sound!

“Pay ransom to the owner,
And fill the bag to the brim.
Who is the owner? The slave is owner,
And ever was. Pay him!”