to the 'plaint of the heart-broken thrall,
Ye blood-hounds, go back to your lair;
May a free northern soil soon give freedom to _all_,
Who shall breathe in its pure mountain air.
O, God speed, &c.

THE SWEETS OF LIBERTY.

AIR--Is there a heart, &c.

Is there a man that never sighed
To set the prisoner free?
Is there a man that never prized
The sweets of liberty?
Then let him, let him breathe unseen,
Or in a dungeon live;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.

Is there a heart so cold in man,
Can galling fetters crave?
Is there a wretch so truly low,
Can stoop to be a slave?
O, let him, then, in chains be bound,
In chains and bondage live;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.

Is there a breast so chilled in life,
Can nurse the coward's sigh?
Is there a creature so debased,
Would not for freedom die?
O, let him then be doomed to crawl
Where only reptiles live;
Nor never, never know the sweets
That liberty can give.

YE SPIRITS OF THE FREE.

AIR--My Faith looks up to thee.

Ye spirits of the free,
Can ye forever see
Your brother man
A yoked and scourged slave,
Chains dragging to his grave,
And raise no hand to save?
Say if you can.

In pride and pomp to roll,
Shall tyrants from the soul
God's image tear,
And call the wreck their own,--
While, from the eternal throne,
They shut the stifled groan
And bitter prayer?

Shall he a slave be bound,
Whom God hath doubly crowned
Creation's lord?
Shall men of Christian name,
Without a blush of shame,
Profess their tyrant claim
From God's own word?

No! at the battle cry,
A host prepared to die,
Shall arm for fight--
But not with martial steel,
Grasped with a murderous zeal;
No arms their foes shall feel,
But love and light.

Firm on Jehovah's laws,
Strong in their righteous cause,
They march to save.
And vain the tyrant's mail,
Against their battle-hail,
Till cease the woe and wail
Of tortured slave!

COLONIZATION SONG.
TO THE FREE COLORED PEOPLE.

AIR--Spider and the fly.

Will you, will you be colonized?
Will you, will you be colonized?

'Tis a land that with honey
And milk doth abound,
Where the lash is not heard,
And the scourge is not found.
Chorus, Will you, &c.

If you stay in this land
Where the white man has rule,
You will starve by his hand,
In both body and soul.
Chorus.

For a nuisance you are,
In this