ody knife.

There's many a heart that yet will start
From its troubled sleep, at night,
As the horrid form of the vengeful slave
Comes in dreams before the sight.
The slave was crushed, and his fetters' link
Drawn tighter than before;
And the bloody earth again was drenched
With the streams of his flowing gore.

Ah! know they not, that the tightest band
Must burst with the wildest power?--
That the more the slave is oppressed and wronged,
Will be fiercer his rising hour?
They may thrust him back with the arm of might,
They may drench the earth with his blood--
But the best and purest of their own,
Will blend with the sanguine flood.

I could tell thee more--but my strength is gone,
And my breath is wasting fast;
Long ere the darkness to-night has fled,
Will my life from the earth have passed:
But this, the sum of all I have learned,
Ere I go I will tell to thee;--
If tyrants would hope for tranquil hearts,
They must let the oppressed go free.

MY CHILD IS GONE.

Music by G.W.C.

[Music]

Hark! from the winds a voice of woe,
The wild Atlantic in its flow,
Bears on its breast the murmur low,
My child is gone!

Like savage tigers o'er their prey,
They tore him from my heart away;
And now I cry, by night by day--
My child is gone!

How many a free-born babe is press'd
With fondness to its mother's breast,
And rocked upon her arms to rest,
While mine is gone!

No longer now, at eve I see,
Beneath the sheltering plantain tree,
My baby cradled on my knee,
For he is gone!

And when I seek my cot at night,
There's not a thing that meets my sight,
But tells me that my soul's delight,
My child, is gone!

I sink to sleep, and then I seem
To hear again his parting scream
I start and wake--'tis but a dream--
My child _is_ gone!

Gone--till my toils and griefs are o'er,
And I shall reach that happy shore,
Where negro mothers cry no more--
My child is gone!

COMFORT IN AFFLICTION.

Words by William Leggett. Music by G.W.C.

[Music]

If yon bright stars which gem the night,
Be each a blissful dwelling sphere,
Where kindred spirits reunite
Whom death has torn asunder here,
How sweet it were at once to die,
And leave this blighted orb afar!
Mix soul with soul to cleave the sky,
And soar away from star to star!

But oh! how dark, how drear, how lone,
Would seem the brightes