irections;
Merchants, editors, physicians,
Lawyers, priests, and politicians.
Get out of the way! every station!
Clear the track of 'mancipation!

Let the ministers and churches
Leave behind sectarian lurches;
Jump on board the Car of Freedom,
Ere it be too late to need them.
Sound the alarm! Pulpits thunder!
Ere too late you see your blunder!

Politicians gazed, astounded,
When, at first, our bell resounded:
_Freight trains_ are coming, tell these foxes,
With our _votes_ and _ballot boxes_.
Jump for your lives! politicians,
From your dangerous, false positions.

Railroads to Emancipation
Cannot rest on _Clay_ foundation.
And the _tracks_ of '_The Polk-itian_'
Are but railroads to perdition!
Pull up the rails! Emancipation
Cannot rest on such foundation.

All true friends of Emancipation,
Haste to Freedom's railroad station;
Quick into the cars get seated,
All is ready and completed.--
Put on the steam! all are crying,
And the liberty flags are flying.

On, triumphant see them bearing,
Through sectarian rubbish tearing;
The bell and whistle and the steaming,
Startle thousands from their dreaming.
Look out for the cars while the bell rings!
Ere the sound your funeral knell rings.

See the people run to meet us;
At the depots thousands greet us;
All take seats with exultation,
In the Car Emancipation.
Huzza! Huzza!! Emancipation
Soon will bless our happy nation.
Huzza! Huzza! Huzza!!!

EMANCIPATION SONG.

Words from the "Bangor Gazette." Air, "Crambambule."

[Music]

Let waiting throngs now lift their voices,
As Freedom's glorious day draws near,
While every gentle tongue rejoices,
And each bold heart is filled with cheer,
The slave has seen the Northern star,
He'll soon be free, hurrah, hurrah!
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!

Though many still are writhing under
The cruel whips of "chevaliers,"
Who mothers from their children sunder,
And scourge them for their helpless tears--
Their safe deliv'rance is not far!
The day draws nigh!--hurrah, hurrah!

Just ere the dawn the darkness deepest
Surrounds the earth as with a pall;
Dry up thy tears, O thou that weepest,
That on thy sight the rays may fall!
No doubt let now thy bosom mar:
Send up the shout--hurrah, hurrah!

Shall we distrust the God of Heaven?--
He every doubt and fear will quell;
By him the captive's chains are riven--
So let us loud the chorus swell!
Man shall be