Classic Poem

Onward, onward, sons of freedom,
In the great and glorious strife;
You've a high and holy mission
On the battle field of life.

See oppression's feet of iron
Grinds a brother to the ground,
And from bleeding heart and bosom
Gapeth many a fearful wound.

Sit not down with idle pity
Gazing on his mighty wrong,
Hurl the bloated tyrant from him
Say, my brother, oh be strong!

See that sad despairing mother
Clasp her burning brow in pain,
Lay your hands upon her fetters
Rend, oh! rend, her galling chain!

Here's a pale and trembling maiden,
Brutal arms around her thrown,
Christian father, save oh! save her
By the love you bear your own!

Yearly lay a hundred thousand
Newborn babes on Moloch's shrine,
Crush these gory reeking altars;
Christian, let this work be thine.

Where the southern roses blossom,
Weary lives go out in pain,
Dragging to death's shadowy portals
Slavery's heavy galling chain.

Men of every clime and nation,
Every faith, and sect, and creed,
Lay aside your idle jangling,
Come and staunch the wounds that bleed.

On my people's blighted bosom
Mountain weights of sorrow lay,
Stop not now to ask the question
Who shall roll the stone away.

Set at work the moral forces
That are yours of church and state,
Teach them how to war and battle
'Gainst oppression, wrong, and hate.

Oh! be faithful! O, be valiant!
Trusting not in human might,
Know that in the darkest conflict
God is on the side of right.