Is there, for honest poverty,
That hangs his head, and a' that;
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor, for a' that;
For a' that and a' that;
Our toils obscure, and a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd, for a' that.

What though on homely fare we dine,
Wear hodden gray and a' that,
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man for a' that;
The honest man tho' e'er so poor,
Is king o' men for a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will, for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
May bear the gree, and a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
It's coming yet, for a' that,
That man to man, the world all o'er
Shall brothers be, for a' that.

They knew that I was poor,
And they thought that I was base;
They thought that I'd endure
To be covered with disgrace;
They thought me of their tribe,
Who on filthy lucre doat,
So they offered me a bribe
For my vote, boys! my vote!
O shame upon my betters,
Who would my conscience buy!
But I'll not wear their fetters,
Not I, indeed, not I!

My vote? It is not mine
To do with as I will;
To cast, like pearls, to swine,
To these wallowers in ill.
It is my country's due,
And I'll give it, while I can,
To the honest and the true,
Like a man, like a man!
O shame, &c.

No, no, I'll hold my vote,
As a treasure and a trust,
My dishonor none shall quote,
When I'm mingled with the dust;
And my children when I'm gone,
Shall be strengthened by the thought,
That their father was not one
To be bought, to be bought!
O shame, &c.

The night is dark, and keen the air,
And the Slave is flying to be free;
His parting word is one short prayer:
Oh God, but give me Liberty!
Farewell—farewell:
Behind I leave the whips and chains,
Before me spreads sweet Freedom's plains.

One star shines in the heavens above
That guides him on his lonely way;—
Star of the North—how deep his love
For thee, thou star of Liberty!
Farewell—farewell:
Behind he leaves the whips and chains,
Before him spreads sweet Freedom's plains.

Ye who know and do the right,
Ye who cherish honor bright,
Ye who worship love and light,
Choose your side to-day.
Succor Freedom, now you can,
Voting for an honest man;
Or you may from Slavery's span,
Pick a Polk or Clay.

Boasts your vote no higher aim,
Than between two blots of shame
That would stain our country's fame,
Just to choose the least?
Let it sternly answer no!
Let it straight for Freedom go;
Let it swell the winds that blow
From the north and east.

Blot!—the smaller—is a curse
Blighting conscience, honor, purse;
Give us any, give the worse,
'Twill be less endured.
Freemen, is it God who wills
You to choose, of foulest ills,
That which only latest kills?
No; he wills it cured.

Do your duty, He will aid;
Dare to vote as you have prayed;
Who e'er conquered, while his blade
Served his open foes.
Right established, would you see?
Feel that you yourselves are free;
Strike for that which ought to be—
God will bless the blows.

Hail the day
Whose joyful ray
Speaks of emancipation!
The day that broke
Oppression's yoke—
The birth-day of a nation!

When England's might
Put forth for right,
Achieved a fame more glorious
Than armies tried,
Or navies' pride,
O'er land and sea victorious!

Soon may we gain
An equal name
In honor's estimation!
And righteousness
Exalt and bless
Our glorious happy nation!

Brave hearts shall lend
Strong hands to rend
Foul slavery's bonds asunder,
And liberty
Her jubilee
Proclaim, in tones of thunder!

We hail afar
Fair freedom's star,
Her day-star brightly glancing;
We hear the tramp
From freedom's camp,
Assembling and advancing!

No noisy drum
Nor murderous gun,
No deadly fiends contending;
But love and right
Their force unite,
In peaceful conflict blending.

Fair freedom's host,
In joyful boast,
Unfolds her banner ample!
With Channing's fame,
And Whittier's name,
And Birney's bright example!

Come join your hands
With freedom's bands,
New England's sons and daughters!
Speak your decree—
Man shall be free—
As mountains, winds and waters!

And haste the day
Whose coming ray
Speaks our emancipation!
Whose glorious light,
Enthroning right,
Shall bless and save the nation!

Dread sovereign, thou! the chainless will—
Thy source the nation's mighty heart—
The ballot box thy cradle still—
Thou speak'st, and nineteen millions start;
Thy subjects, sons of noble sires;
Descendants of a patriot band—
Thy lights a million's household fires—
Thy daily walk, my native land.

And shall the safeguard of the free,
By valor won on gory plains,
Become a solemn mockery
While freemen breathe and virtue reigns?
Shall liberty be bought and sold
By guilty creatures clothed with power?
Is honor but a name for gold,
And principle a withered flower?

The parricide's accursed steel
Has pierced thy sacred sovereignty;
And all who think, and all who feel,
Must act or never more be free.
No party chains shall bind us here;
No mighty name shall turn the blow:
Then, wounded sovereignty, appear,
And lay the base apostates low.

The wretch, with hands by murder red,
May hope for mercy at the last;
And he who steals a nation's bread,
May have oblivion's statute passed.
But he who steals a sacred right,
And brings his native land to scorn,
Shall die a traitor in her sight,
With none to pity or to mourn.

What mean ye that ye bruise and bind
My people, saith the Lord,
And starve your craving brother's mind,
Who asks to hear my word?

What mean ye that ye make them toil;
Through long and dreary years,
And shed like rain upon your soil
Their blood and bitter tears?

What mean ye, that ye dare to rend
The tender mother's heart?
Brothers from sisters, friend from friend,
How dare you bid them part?

What mean ye when God's bounteous hand,
To you so much has given,
That from the slave who tills your land,
Ye keep both earth and heaven?

When at the judgment God shall call,
Where is thy brother? say,
What mean ye to the Judge of all
To answer on that day?

While we are happy here,
In joy and peace and love,
We'll raise our hearts, with holy fear,
To thee, great God, above.

God of our infant hours!
The music of our tongues,
The worship of our nobler powers,
To thee, to thee belongs.

The little, trembling slave
Shall feel our sympathy;
O God! arise with might to save,
And set the captive free.

No parent's holy care
Provides for him repose,
But oft the hot and briny tear,
In sorrow freely flows.

The God of Abraham praise;
The curse he will remove;
The slave shall welcome happy days,
With liberty and love.

Pray without ceasing, pray,
Ye saints of God Most High,
That all who hail this glorious day,
May have their liberty.

March on! march on! we love the Liberty flag,
That's waving o'er our land;
As fearless as the eagle soaring
O'er the cloud-capped mountain crag,
Slavery in terror flies before us;
We fling our banner to the blast;
It there shall float triumphant o'er us,
We will defend it to the last.
March on! march on, &c.

Vote on! vote on, we hail the Liberty flag,
That leads us on our way;
We'll boldly vote, our country saving,
And bravely conquer while we may.
The world is up—for freedom moving,
The thunders' distant roar we hear—
From land to land the free are calling,
And slaves with joy and rapture hear.
Vote on! vote on, &c.