O weep, ye friends of Freedom, weep!
Shout liberty no more;
Your harps to mournful measures sweep,
Till slavery's reign is o'er.
O, furl your star-lit thing of light—
That banner should not wave
Where, vainly pleading for his right,
Your Brother toils—a Slave!

O pray, ye friends of Freedom, pray
For those who toil in chains,
Who lift their fettered hands to day
On Carolina's plain!
God is the hope of the Oppressed;
His arm is strong to save;
Pray, then, that freedom's cause be blest,
Your Brother is a Slave!

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40

O toil, ye friends of Freedom, toil!
Your mission to fulfil,—
That Freedom's consecrated soil
Slaves may no longer till;
Ay, toil and pray from deep disgrace
Your native land to save;
Weep o'er the miseries of your race,
Your Brother is a Slave!