C. M. * American Slavery. |
1 The land our fathers left to us Is foul with hateful sin; When shall, O Lord, this sorrow end, And hope and joy begin? 2 What good, though growing might and wealth Shall stretch from shore to shore, If thus the fatal poison-taint Be only spread the more? 3 Wipe out, O God, the nation's sin, Then swell the nation's power; But build not high our yearning hopes, To wither in an hour! 4 No outward show nor fancied strength From Thy stern justice saves; There is no liberty for them Who make their brethren slaves!
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