All true friends of Emancipation,
Haste to Freedom’s railroad station;
Quick into the cars get seated,
All is ready and completed. 
  Put on the steam! all are crying,
  And the liberty flags are flying.

Now again the bell is tolling,
Soon you’ll see the car-wheels rolling;
Hinder not their destination,
Chartered for Emancipation. 
  Wood up the fire! keep it flashing,
  While the train goes onward dashing.

Hear the mighty car-wheels humming! 
Now look out! the Engine’s coming!
Church and statesmen! hear the thunder! 
Clear the track or you’ll fall under. 
  Get off the track! all are singing,
  While the Liberty bell is ringing.

On, triumphant see them bearing,
Through sectarian rubbish tearing;
The bell and whistle and the steaming,
Startle thousands from their dreaming. 
  Look out for the cars while the bell rings! 
  Ere the sound your funeral knell rings.

See the people run to meet us;
At the depots thousands greet us;
All take seats with exultation,
In the Car Emancipation. 
  Huzza!  Huzza!!  Emancipation
  Soon will bless our happy nation,
    Huzza!  Huzza!  Huzza!!!

BE FREE, O MAN, BE FREE.

The storm-winds wildly blowing,
  The bursting billows mock,
As with their foam-crests glowing,
  They dash the sea-girt rock;
Amid the wild commotion,
  The revel of the sea,
A voice is on the ocean,
  Be free, O man, be free.

Behold the sea-brine leaping
  High in the murky air;
List to the tempest sweeping
  In chainless fury there. 
What moves the mighty torrent,
  And bids it flow abroad? 
Or turns the rapid current? 
  What, but the voice of God?

Then, answer, is the spirit
  Less noble or less free? 
From whom does it inherit
  The doom of slavery? 
When man can bind the waters,
  That they no longer roll,
Then let him forge the fetters
  To clog the human soul.

Till then a voice is stealing
  From earth and sea and sky,
And to the soul revealing
  Its immortality. 
The swift wind chants the numbers
  Careering o’er the sea,
And earth, aroused from slumbers,
  Re-echoes, “Man, be free.”

THE FUGITIVE SLAVE TO THE CHRISTIAN.

The fetters galled my weary soul—­
A soul that seemed but thrown away;
I spurned the tyrant’s base control,
Resolved at last the man to play:—­
  The hounds are baying on my track;
  O Christian! will you send me back?

I felt the stripes, the lash I saw,
Red, dripping with a father’s gore;
And worst of all their lawless law,
The insults that my mother bore! 
  The hounds are baying on my track,
  O Christian! will you send me back?