Escaped from all the perils of the sea,--
Storms, shoals,--the angry and engulphing waves,--
Here stand we, on a savage shore,--all free,
Thy freemen, Lord! and not of man the slaves.
Here will we toil and serve thee, till our graves
On these bleak hills shall open.--When the blood
Thou pourest now so warm along our veins
Shall westward flow, till Mississippi's flood
Gives to our children's children his broad plains,
Ne'er let them wear, O God, or forge a bondman's chains!
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