Martin Delany's Poems and Songs
Oh, when shall my sorrows subside,
And when shall my troubles be ended;
And when to the bosum of Christ be conveyed
To the mansions of joy and bliss;
To the mansions of joy and bliss!
From "Blake," Chapter 8
See wives and husbands torn apart,
Their children's screams, they grieve my heart.
Come and go along with me,
They are torn away to Georgia!
Go sound the Jubilee!
From "Blake," Chapter 10
Oh! Jesus, Jesus is my friend,
He'll be my helper to the end. . . .
From "Blake," Chapter 10
The Lord is here, and the Lord is all around
us;
Canaan, Canaan's a very happy home,
O, glory! O, glory! God is here,
From "Blake," Chapter 10
O, who's like Jesus!
Hallelujah! praise ye the Lord;
O, who's like Jesus!
Hallelujah! love and serve the Lord!
From "Blake," Chapter 10
About our future destiny,
There need be none debate,
Whilst we ride on the tide,
With our Captain and his mate.
From "Blake," Chapter 11
Farewell, farewell, farewell!!
My loving friends farewell!
Farewell old comrades in the cause,
I leave you here, and journey on;
And if I never more return,
Farewell, I'm bound to meet you there!
From "Blake," Chapter 11
Insurrection shall be my theme!
My watchword 'Freedom or the grave!'
Until from Rappahannock's stream,
To where the Cuato waters lave,
One simultaneous war cry
Shall burst upon the midnight air!
And rouse the tyrant but to sigh
Mid sadness, wailing and despair!
From "Blake," Chapter 11
Could I but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o'er;
Not Jordan's streams, nor death's cold flood
Could drive me from the shore!
From "Blake," Chapter 17
In eighteen hundred and twenty three,
They said their people should be free!
It is wrote in Jeremiah,
Come and go along with me!
It is wrote in Jeremiah,
Go sound the Jubilee!
From "Blake," Chapter 21
I suppose you've heard how New Orleans
Is famed for wealth and beauty;
There's girls of every hue, it seems
From snowy white to sooty
From "Blake," Chapter 22
Way down upon the Mobile river
Close to Mobile bay;
There's where my thoughts is running ever,
All through the livelong day;
There I've a good and fond old mother,
Though she is a slave;
There I've a sister and a brother,
Lying in their peaceful graves.
(Chorus) O, could I somehow a'nother,
Drive these tears way;
When I think about my poor old mother,
Down upon the Mobile bay.
From "Blake," Chapter 22
We'll honor our Lord and Master;
We'll honor our Lord and King;
We'll honor our Lord and Master,
And bow at His command!
O! brothers, did you hear the news?
Lovely Jesus is coming!
If ever I get to the house of the Lord,
I'll never come back any more.
From "Blake," Chapter 22
Come all my brethren, let us take a rest,
While the moon shines bright and clear;
Old master died and left us all at last,
And has gone at the bar to appear!
Old master's dead and lying in his grave;
And our blood will now cease to flow;
He will no more tramp on the neck of the slave
For he's gone where slaveholders go!
Hang up the shovel and the hoe o o o!
I don't care whether I work or no!
Old master's gone to slaveholders rest,
He's gone and where they all ought to go!
From "Blake," Chapter 22
Go tell Jack Coleman,
The Negroes are arising!
From "Blake," Chapter 22
Star of the North thou art not bigger,
Than the diamond in my ring;
Yet every black star gazing nigger,
Looks up to thee as some great thing!
From "Blake," Chapter 28
We are like a band of pilgrims,
In a strange and foreign land,
With our knapsacks on our shoulders
And our cudgels in our hands,
We have many miles before us,
But it lessens not our joys
We will sing a merry chorus,
For we are the trampling boys.
From "Blake," Chapter 30
I'm on my way to Canada,
That cold and dreary land;
The dire effects of slavery,
I can no longer stand.
My soul is vexed within me so,
To think that I'm a slave,
I've now resolved to strike the blow,
For Freedom or the grave.
(Chorus) O, righteous Father
Wilt thou not pity me;
And aid me on the Canada,
Where the fugitives are free?
I heard old England plainly say,
If we would all forsake,
Our native land of Slavery,
And come across the lake.
From "Blake," Chapter 31
O, when shall my sorrow subside!
And when shall my troubles be ended
And when to the bosum of Christ be conveyed
To the mansions of joy and bliss!
To the mansions of joy and bliss!
From "Blake," Chapter 33
Daughters of Zion! awake from they sadness!
Awake for thy foes shall oppress thee no more.
Bright o'er the hills
Shines the day star of gladness
Arise ! for the night of thy sorrow is o'er;
Daughters of Zion, awake from thy sadness
Awake for thy foes shall oppress thee no more!
From "Blake," Chapter 33
How sweet at close of silent eve
The harp's responsive sound;
How sweet the vows that ne'er deceive
And deeds by virtue crowned!
How sweet to sit beneath a tree
In some delightful grove;
But O! more soft, more sweet to me
The voice of him I love!
From "Blake," Chapter 35
Were I a slave I would be free!
I would not live to live a slave;
But rise and strike for liberty,
For Freedom, or a martyr's grave!
One look upon the bloody scourge,
Would rouse my soul to brave the fight,
And all that's human in me urge
To battle for my innate right!
One look upon the tyrant's chains,
Would draw my sabre from its sheath,
And drive the hot blood through my veins
To rush for liberty or death!
One look upon my tortured wife,
Shrieking beneath the driver's blows,
Would nerve me on to desp'rate strife,
Nor would I spare her dastard foes!
Arm'd with the vindicating brand,
For once the tyrant's heart should feel,
No milk sop plea should stay my hand,
The slave's great wrong would drive the steel!
Away the unavailing plea!
Of peace, the tyrant's blood to spare,
If you would set the captive free,
Teach him for freedom bold to dare!
To throw his galling fetters by,
To wing the cry on every breath,
Determined manhood's conquering cry,
For Justice, Liberty, or death!
From "Blake," Chapter 42
My country, the land of my birth,
Farewell to thy fetters and thee!
The byword of tyrants, the scorn of the earth,
A mockery to all thou shalt be!
Hurra, for the sea and its waves!
Ye billows and surges, all hail!
My brothers henceforth, for ye scorn to be SLAVES
As ye toss up your crests to the gale;
Farewell to the land of the bloodhound and chain,
My path is away o'er the fetterless main!
From "Blake," Chapter 47
O Cuba! 'tis in thee
Dark land of slavery
In thee we groan
Long have our chains been worn,
Long has out grief been borne
Our flesh has long been torn,
Even from our bones!
The white man rules the day,
He bears despotic sway,
O'er all the land;
He wields the tyrant's rod,
Fearless of man of God,
And at his impious nod,
We fall or stand!
O, shall we longer bleed!
From "Blake," Chapter 47
No mail clad serfs, obediant to their lord,
In grim array the crimson cross demand,
Or gay assemble round the festive board.
Their chief's retainers, an immortal band.
From "Blake," Chapter 47
I'm a goin' to Afraka,
Where de white man dare not stay;
I ketch 'im by de collar,
Den de white man holler;
I seize 'im by de throat!
Laud! he beller like a goat!
From "Blake," Chapter 47
Tell me not of my sad lot,
Of death's cold cheeks repine,
Of life's last hope, and endless scope,
Of miseries of mine!
From "Blake," Chapter 50
We have hatred dark and deep
For the fetter and the thong;
We bring light to prisoned spirits,
For the captive wail a song!
We bring light
From "Blake," Chapter 52
Is there not some chosen curse
Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven
Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man
Who gains his fortune from the blood of souls?
From "Blake," From Chapter 53
The British shot flew hot,
But the Yankees answered not,
Till they got within the distance
They called handyo!
Says. . .
From "Blake," From Chapter 53
Dark and unearthly is the scowl,
That glares beneath his dusty cowl;
The flash of that dilating eye
Reveals too much of time gone by!
Though. . .
From "Blake," Chapter 54
All hail thou true and noble chief,
Who scorned to live a cowering slave;
Thy name shall stand on history's leaf
Amid the mighty and the brave!
Thy name shall shine a glorious light
To other brave and fearless men,
Who like thyself in freedom's might,
Shall brave the robber in his den;
'Created worth or human woe;'
Thy name shall nerve the patriot's hand
When mid the battle's deadly strife,
The glittering bayonet and brand
Are coming with the stream of life;
When the dark clouds of battle roll,
And slaughter reigns without control,
Thy name shall then fresh life impart
And fire anew each freeman's heart.
Though wealth and power their force combine
To crush thy noble spirit down,
There is above a power divine
Shall bear thee up against their frown.
From "Blake," Chapter 60
Oh Great Jehovah, God of Love!
Thou monarch of the earth and sky,
Canst thou from thy great throne above
Look down with an unpitying eye!
See Africa's sons and daughters toll,
Day after day, year after year,
Upon this blood bemoistened soil,
And to their cries turn a deaf ear?
Canst thou the white oppressor bless,
With verdant hills and fruitful plains,
Regardless of the slave's distress
Unmindful of the blackman's chains?
In the Almighty thundering voice,
To bid the oppressors fetters break,
And Ethiopia's sons rejoice?
How long shall Slavery's iron grip,
And prejudices guilty hand,
Send forth like bloodhounds from the slip
Foul persecution o'er the land?
How long shall puny mortals dare
To violate Thy just decree,
And force Thy fellow men to wear
The galling chains by land and sea?
Hasten, Oh Lord! the glorious time
When everywhere beneath the skies,
From every land and every clime
Peons to Liberty shall rise!
When the bright sun of Liberty
Shall shine o'er each despotic land;
And all mankind from bondage free,
Adore the wonders of thy hand.
From "Blake," Chapter 61
Yes, strike again that sounding string,
And let the wildest numbers roll;
Thy song of fiercest passion sing,
It breathes responsive to my soul!
A soul whose gentlest hours were nursed
In stern adversity's dark way,
And o'er whose pathway never burst
One gleam of hope's enlivening ray.
If thou will soothe my burning brain,
Sing not to me of joy and gladness;
'Twill but increase the raging pain,
And turn the fever into madness!
Sing not to me of landscapes bright
Of fragrant flowers and fruitful trees,
Of azure skies and mellow light,
But tell me of the tempest roaring
Across the angry foaming deep
Of torrents from the mountains pouring
Down precipices dark and deep.
Sing of the lightning's lurid flash,
The ocean's roar, the howling storm,
The earthquake's shock, the thunder's crash,
Where ghastly terrors teeming swarm.
Sing of the battle's deadly strife,
The ruthless march of war and pillage;
The awful waste of human life,
The plunder'd town, the burning villege
Of streets with human gore made red,
Of priests under the altar slain,
The scene of rapine, woe and dread,
That fill the warrior's horrid train.
Thy song may then an echo wake,
Deep in this soul, long crush'd and sad,
The direful impressions shake,
Which threaten now to drive me mad.
From "Blake," Chapter 69
On God and our own strength rely,
And dare be faituful though we die;
But trusting in the aid of Heaven,
And willing with unfaltering arm,
The utmost power which God has given. . .
Conscious that the Almighty power
Will nerve the faithful soul with might,
Whatever storms around may lower,
Who boldly strikes for the true and right.
From "Blake," Chapter 69
How long, O gracious God! how long
Shall power lord it over right?
The feeble trampled by the strong
Remain in Slavery's gloomy night!
From "Blake," Chapter 74
