My country, shall thy honored name,
Be as a by-word through the world?
Rouse! for as if to blast thy fame,
This keen reproach is at thee hurled;
The banner that above thee waves,
Is floating over three millions slaves.
That flag, my country, I had thought,
From noble sires was given to thee,
Bâ€™ the best blood of patriots bought,
To wave alone above the Free!
Yet now, while to the breeze it waves,
It floats above three millions slaves.
The mighty dead that flag unrolled,
They bathed it in the heavenâ€™s own blue;
They sprinkled stars upon each fold,
And gave it as a trust to you;
And now that glorious banner waves
In shame above three millions slaves.
O, by the virtues of our sires,
And by the soil on which they trod,
And by the trust their name inspires,
And by the hope we have in God,
Arouse, my country, and agree
To set thy captive children free.
Arouse ! and let each hill and glen
With prayer to the high heavens ring out,
Till all our land with freeborn men,
May join in one triumphant shout,
That freedomâ€™s banner does not wave
Its folds above a single slave.