Rise up, America! and call her blessed;
Rise with thy million hearts and million tongues,
In one great chorus rise, and give to Fame
Thy noble daughter; she who bravely stood
To assert the human rights and liberties
Of Afric's long-despised, oppressed sons,
Whose sole inheritance is slavery.
Bless her! from Commerce's busy, bustling mart;
Bless her! ye hardy sons of toil, who bend
Above the anvil and the loom, and raise
Your voice with hers, to swell the heaven-born cry,
Liberty to the captive! Let it sound
Till the great city's stony heart repeats,
Liberty to the captive! Let it rise
From gorgeous palaces and halls of State,
From hovels, where the struggling sunbeams scarce
Cheer poverty's hard lot. From the dark mine
Where heaven's own blessed light can never come,
From crowded lanes and courts—from jostling streets
Where strong men in the race of life outstrip
Their weak or timid brother—from the wide
And boundless prairies—from the solemn woods,
The glorious river; or the cloud-capt height—
The waving plain, whose laden breasts proclaim
A bounteous God's regard for all who live.
Let every nook and corner of the land
Raise, blended with her woman's name, the cry,
Liberty to the captive! Let it peal
From the lone sailor on the midnight deep,
Reverberating to admiring lands.
Let Albion's favored Isle take up the strain—
Wronged Hungary and Poland hear and smile—
Where friendship, sympathy, and love combined,
Light human hearts with radiant rays from Heaven—
Where hand grasps hand, and kindling eye meets eye
And brother welcomes brother, let them raise
The cry of freedom to poor Afric's sons.
But foremost from the well-spring, deep and pure,
Of woman's gushing nature, let it come
From the rich mine of tenderness and love,
Where the bright treasur'd God-gifts lie enshrined.
Let the full love-charged soul give forth its voice
For wronged and suffering sisters, who, with all
Their woman's nature, glowing or repressed,
Bear slavery's dread lot; and while they raise
Their voice for wronged humanity, repeat
Thy name, dear sister of the scorned slave,
Brave daughter of a land which well may glow
With honest pride to hail thee as her own.
Rouse, then, America! thou fair young land,
And while thy children's praise old earth repeats,
Let not thy children feel ashamed of thee.
Rouse from the policy which binds thine arm,
And freezes thy great heart—wipe off the stain,
The blood-cemented slave-stain from thy brow,
And rise majestic, glorious and free.
Then with a mighty shout from East to West,
From North to South, through all thy vast domains,
Prolong the cry thy noble daughter raised—
Liberty to the captive! till men see
How many hearts—noble and great as Stowe's—
Were nursed 'neath thy star-bespangled flag,
And glory in thy greatness, while thou stand'st
Confessed the admiration of the world.