Escaped from all the perils of the sea, —
Storms, shoals, — the angry and engulphing waves, —
Here stand we, on a savage shore, — all free,
Thy freemen, Lord! and not of man the slaves.

Here will we toil and serve thee, till our graves
On these bleak hills shall open. — When the blood
Thou pourest now so warm along our veins
Shall westward flow, till Mississippi's flood
Gives to our children's children his broad plains,
Ne'er let them wear , O God, or forge a bondman's chains!