SONG OF THE COFFLE GANG.

This song is said to be sung by Slaves, as they are chained in gangs, when parting from friends for the far off South—­children taken from parents, husbands from wives, and brothers from sisters.

  See these poor souls from Africa,
  Transported to America: 
We are stolen, and sold to Georgia, will you go along with me?  We are stolen and sold to Georgia, go sound the jubilee.

  See wives and husbands sold apart,
  The children’s screams!—­it breaks my heart;
There’s a better day a coming, will you go along with me? 
There’s a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.

  O, gracious Lord? when shall it be,
  That we poor souls shall all be free? 
Lord, break them Slavery powers—­will you go along with me? 
Lord, break them Slavery powers, go sound the jubilee.

  Dear Lord! dear Lord! when Slavery’ll cease,
  Then we poor souls can have our peace;
There’s a better day a coming, will you go along with me? 
There’s a better day a coming, go sound the jubilee.

ZAZA—­THE FEMALE SLAVE.

O, my country, my country! 
  How long I for thee,
Far over the mountain,
  Far over the sea. 
Where the sweet Joliba,
  Kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander
  By thee never more? 
Where the sweet Joliba kisses the shore,
Say, shall I wander by thee never more.

Say, O fond Zurima,
  Where dost thou stay? 
Say, doth another
  List to thy sweet lay? 
Say, doth the orange still
  Bloom near our cot? 
Zurima, Zurima,
  Am I forgot? 
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.

Under the baobab
  Oft have I slept,
Fanned by sweet breezes
  That over me swept. 
Often in dreams
  Do my weary limbs lay
’Neath the same baobab,
  Far, far away. 
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.

O, for the breath
  Of our own waving palm,
Here, as I languish,
  My spirit to calm—­
O, for a draught
  From our own cooling lake,
Brought by sweet mother,
  My spirit to wake. 
O, my country, my country, how long I for thee,
Far over the mountain, far over the sea.

YE HERALDS OF FREEDOM.

Ye heralds of freedom, ye noble and brave,
Who dare to insist on the rights of the slave,
Go onward, go onward, your cause is of God,
And he will soon sever the oppressor’s strong rod.

The finger of slander may now at you point,
That finger will soon lose the strength of its joint;
And those who now plead for the rights of the slave,
Will soon be acknowledged the good and the brave.

Though thrones and dominions, and kingdoms and powers,
May now all oppose you, the victory is yours;
The banner of Jesus will soon be unfurled,
And he will give freedom and peace to the world.