Hymn For The First of August

Where Britannia's emerald isles Gem the Caribbean sea, And an endless summer smiles, Lo! the negro thrall is free! Yet not on Columbia's plains, Hath the sun of freedom risen: Here, in darkness and in chains, Toiling millions pine in prison. Shout! ye islands disenthralled, Point the finger, as in scorn, At a country that is called Freedom's home, where men are born Heirs, for life, to chains and whips,-- Bondmen, who have never known Wife, child, parent, that their lips Ever dared to call their own. Yet, a Christian land is this! Yea, and ministers of Christ Slavery's foot, in homage, kiss; And their brother, who is priced Higher than their Saviour, even, Do they into bondage sell;-- Pleading thus the cause of Heaven, Serving thus the cause of hell. Holy Father, let thy word, Spoken by thy prophets old, By the pliant priest be heard; And let lips, that now are cold, (Chilled by Mammon's golden wand!) With our nation's 'burden' glow, Till the free man and the bond Shout for Slavery's overthrow!