Classic Poem

Hark the chain—the clanking chain,
With our triumph blending!
Sighs of sorrow, groans of pain,
O'er our songs ascending!
Lo! our injur'd brother man,
Crush'd beneath the scourge—the ban—
Still a wretched slave must be;
Him proud freedom will not free!

Hear the slave, with lifted hands,
Mid his anguish raving!
On his neck proud freedom stands,
All her banners waving!
She hath cut the tyrant's cord,
Driv'n away the foreign lord,
Yet her foot's contemptuous thrust
Tramples millions to the dust!

Hark the chain—the loosen'd chain,
From its victim falling!
Wake—Oh! wake a loftier strain,
Glorious days forestalling.
Love and mercy sweetly plead,
Justice urges to the deed,
Reason's mighty voice is heard,
Loud is God's commanding word.

Heav'n has heard the stifled cry,
Hearts from sleep awaken;
Freedom, with uplifted eye,
Owns herself mistaken:
See! t'is done! the slave is free!
Raise the song of Jubilee!
Let it sound o'er land and sea!
Love hath conquer'd—man is free.