Classic Poem

Wait not till slaves pronounce the word
To set the captive free,
Be free yourselves, be not deferred,
And farewell slavery.

Ye are all slaves, ye have your price,
And gang but cries to gang.
Then rise, the highest of ye rise,
I hear your fetters clang.

Think not the tyrant sits afar
In your own breasts ye have
The District of Columbia
And power to free the Slave.

The warmest heart the north doth breed,
Is still too cold and far,
The colored man's release must come
From outcast Africa.

Make haste & set the captive free!—
Are ye so free that cry?
The lowest depths of slavery
Leave freedom for a sigh.