Then arouse ye, brave hearts, to the rescue come on! The man-stealing army we'll surely put down; They are crushing their millions, but soon they must yield, For _freemen_ have _risen_ and taken the field. Then arouse ye! arouse ye! the fearless and free, Like the winds of the desert, the waves of the sea; Let the north, west, and east, to the sea-beaten shore, _Resound_ with a _liberty triumph_ once more. ON TO VICTORY. AIR--Scots wha hae. Children of the glorious dead, Who for freedom fought and bled, With her banner o'er you spread, On to victory. Not for stern ambition's prize, Do our hopes and wishes rise; Lo, our leader from the skies, Bids us do or die. Ours is not the tented field-- We no earthly weapons wield-- Light and love, our sword and shield, Truth our panoply. This is proud oppression's hour; Storms are round us; shall we cower? While beneath a despot's power Groans the suffering slave? While on every southern gale, Comes the helpless captive's tale, And the voice of woman's wail, And of man's despair? While our homes and rights are dear, Guarded still with watchful fear, Shall we coldly turn our ear From the suppliant's prayer? Never! by our Country's shame-- Never! by a Saviour's claim, To the men of every name, Whom he died to save. Onward, then, ye fearless band-- Heart to heart, and hand to hand; Yours shall be the patriot's stand, Or the martyr's grave. THE MAN FOR ME. AIR--The Rose that all are praising. O, he is not the man for me, Who buys or sells a slave, Nor he who will not set him free, But sends him to his grave; But he whose noble heart beats warm For all men's life and liberty; Who loves alike each human form, O, that's the man for me. He's not at all the man for me, Who sells a man for gain, Who bends the pliant servile knee, To Slavery's god of shame! But he whose God-like form erect Proclaims that all alike are free To think, and speak, and vote, and act, O, that's the man for me. He sure is not the man for me Whose spirit will succumb, When men endowed with Liberty Lie bleeding, bound and dumb; But he whose faithful words of might Ring through the land from shore to sea, For man's eternal equal right, O, that's the man for me. No, no, he's not the man for me Whose voice o'er hill and plain, Breaks forth for glorious liberty, But binds himself, the chain! The mightiest of the noble band Who prays and toils the world to free, With head, and heart, and voice, and vote, O, that's the man for me. THE BONDMAN. AIR--Troubadour. 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.