The Liberty hosts are advancing—­
  For freedom to all they declare;
The down-trodden millions are sighing—­
  Come, break up our gloom of despair. 
    Come break up our gloom of despair, &c.

Ye Democrats, come to the rescue,
  And aid on the liberty cause,
And millions will rise up and bless you,
  With heart-cheering songs of applause,
    With heart-cheering songs, &c.

Ye Whigs, forsake slavery’s minions,
  And boldly step into our ranks;
We care not for party opinions,
  But invite all the friends of the banks,—­
    And invite all the friends of the banks, &c,

And when we have formed the blest union
  We’ll firmly march on, one and all—­
We’ll sing when we meet in communion,
  And roll on the liberty ball,
    And roll on the liberty ball, dec.

EMANCIPATION HYMN OF THE WEST INDIAN NEGROES.  FOR THE FIRST OF AUGUST CELEBRATION.

Praise we the Lord! let songs resound
  To earth’s remotest shore! 
Songs of thanksgiving, songs of praise—­
  For we are slaves no more.

Praise we the Lord!  His power hath rent
  The chains that held us long! 
His voice is mighty, as of old,
  And still His arm is strong.

Praise we the Lord!  His wrath arose,
  His arm our fetters broke;
The tyrant dropped the lash, and we
  To liberty awoke!

Praise we the Lord! let holy songs
  Rise from these happy isles!—­
O! let us not unworthy prove,
  On whom His bounty smiles.

And cease we not the fight of faith
  Till all mankind be free;
Till mercy o’er the earth shall flow,
  As waters o’er the sea.

Then shall indeed Messiah’s reign
  Through all the world extend;
Then swords to ploughshares shall be turned,
  And Heaven with earth shall blend.

OVER THE MOUNTAIN.

Over the mountain, and over the moor,
  Hungry and weary I wander forlorn;
My father is dead, and my mother is poor,
  And she grieves for the days that will never return;
    Give me some food for my mother in charity;
    Give me some food and then I will be gone. 
    Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity,
    Cold blows the wind and the night’s coming on.

Call me not indolent beggar and bold enough,
  Fain would I learn both to knit and to sew;
I’ve two little brothers at home, when they’re old enough,
  They will work hard for the gifts you bestow;
    Pity, kind gentlemen, friends of humanity. 
    Cold blows the wind, and the night’s coming on;
    Give me some food for my mother in charity,
    Give me some food, and then I will begone.

JUBILEE SONG.

Air—­Away the Bowl.

Our grateful hearts with joy o’erflow,
  Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
We hail the Despot’s overthrow,
  Hurra, Hurra, Hurra,
No more he’ll raise the gory lash,
And sink it deep in human flesh,
  Hurra, Hurra, Hurra, Hurra
  Hurra, Hurra, Hurra.