By C. Louisa Morgan.

The Liberator, November 1, 1850
From the Anti-Slavery Bugle.

It was not mine to hear thine earnest voice,
For truth and justice eloquently pleading;
Thy warm appeals for those who ne'er rejoice
In Freedom's smile, the chained, heart-crushed and bleeding.

Yet though I may not see thee face to face,
I love thee with a warm and true affection;
Thou faithful champion of an outcast race,
May Heaven accord to thee its kind protection!

She is a martyr who can cross the wave,
In humble faith upon her God relying;
Bidding her native land adieu, to save
The perishing, in mental darkness dying.

The world looks on in wonder, half aghast,
To see such heroism in a woman;
The churches' benizons[1] on her are cast,
And she is reckoned more divine than human.

But thou, with courage more heroic yet,
Hast braved the torrent of abuse and scorning;
Colder and sterner spirits thou hast met,
Than she amid the heathen lands of morning.

O, faithful-hearted! thou hast given up all--
All the sweet joys that cluster round Home's altar,
And given thy life for those in captive thrall,
With a devotion that will never falter.

Forth from the ark of happiness and love,
Stifling the feelings of a wife and mother,
Thou journeyest like the Patriarch's faithful dove,
In pity for the sorrows of another:

Pleading for her condemned in chains to mourn,
Driven to her unpaid labors, scourged and gory,
Whose helpless babes are from her bosom torn,
Beneath our country's stars and stripes of glory!

Thou askest no reward, but it will come!
The wreath of amaranth shall yet be given,
When thou at last shalt reach a peaceful home,
Upon the bright and stormless shore of Heaven.


[1] Benisons, or blessings.