heather-hills,
Sweet their perfume:
Yet through the wilderness
Cheerful we stray,
Native land, native land--
Home far away!
Pilgrims, &c.

Dim grew the forest path,
Onward they trod:
Firm beat their noble hearts,
Trusting in God!
Gray men and blooming maids,
High rose their song--
Hear it sweep, clear and deep
Ever along!
Pilgrims, &c.

Not theirs the glory-wreath,
Torn by the blast;
Heavenward their holy steps,
Heavenward they passed!
Green be their mossy graves!
Ours be their fame,
While their song peals along,
Ever the same!
Pilgrims, &c.

The Bondman.

FROM THE LIBERATOR.

Feebly the bondman toiled,
Sadly he wept--
Then to his wretched cot
Mournfully crept:
How doth his free-born soul
Pine 'neath his chain!
Slavery! Slavery!
Dark is thy reign.

Long ere the break of day,
Roused from repose,
Wearily toiling
Till after its close--
Praying for freedom,
He spends his last breath:
Liberty! Liberty!
Give me, or death.

When, when, oh Lord! will right
Triumph o'er wrong?
Tyrants oppress the weak,
Oh Lord! how long?
Hark! hark! a peal resounds
From shore to shore--
Tyranny! Tyranny!
Thy reign is o'er.

E'en now the morning
Gleams from the East--
Despots are feeling
Their triumph is past--
Strong hearts are answering
To freedom's loud call--
Liberty! Liberty!
Full and for all.

FOURTH OF JULY.

Words by Mrs. Sigourney. Music by G.W.C.

[Music]

We have a goodly clime,
Broad vales and streams we boast;
Our mountain frontiers frown sublime,
Old Ocean guards our coast.

Suns bless our harvests fair,
With fervid smile serene,
But a dark shade is gathering there,
What can its blackness mean?

We have a birth-right proud,
For our young sons to claim--
An eagle soaring o'er the cloud,
In freedom and in fame.

We have a scutcheon bright,
By our dead fathers bought;
A fearful blot distains its white--
Who hath such evil wrought?

Our banner o'er the sea
Looks forth with starry eye,
Emblazoned glorious, bold and free,
A letter on the sky--

What hand with shameful stain,
Hath marred its heavenly blue?
The yoke, the fasces, and the chain,
Say, are these emblems true?

This day doth music rare
Swell through our nation's bound,
But Afric's wailing mingles there,
And Heaven doth hear the sound.

O God of power! we turn
In penitence to thee,
Bid our loved