When, when, O Lord! will right Triumph o'er wrong? Tyrants oppress the weak, O 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. RIGHT ON. AIR--Lenox. Ho! children of the brave, Ho! freemen of the land, That hurl'd into the grave Oppression's bloody band; Come on, come on, and joined be we To make the fettered bondman free. Let coward vassals sneak From freedom's battle still, Poltroons that dare not speak But as their priests may will; Come on, come on, and joined be we To make the fettered bondman free. On parchment, scroll and creed, With human life blood red, Untrembling at the deed, Plant firm your manly tread; The priest may howl, the jurist rave, But we will free the fettered slave. The tyrant's scorn is vain, In vain the slanderer's breath, We'll rush to break the chain, E'en on the jaws of death; Hurrah! Hurrah! right on go we, The fettered slave shall yet be free. Right on, in freedom's name, And in the strength of God, Wipe out the damning stain, And break the oppressor's rod; Hurrah! Hurrah! right on go we, The fettered slave shall yet be free. FUGITIVE'S TRIUMPH. Go, go, thou that enslav'st me, Now, now thy power is o'er; Long, long have I obeyed thee, I'm not a slave any more; No, no--oh, no! I'm a _free man_ ever more! Thou, thou brought'st me ever, Deep, deep sorrow and pain; But I have left thee forever, Nor will I serve thee again; No, no--oh, no! No, I'll not serve thee again. Tyrant! thou hast bereft me Home, friends, pleasures so sweet; Now, forever I've left thee, Thou and I never shall meet; No, no--oh, no! Thou and I never shall meet. Joys, joys, bright as the morning, Now, now, on me will pour, Hope, hope, on me is dawning, _I'm not a slave any more!_ No, no--oh, no, I'm a FREE MAN evermore! A SONG FOR FREEDOM. AIR--Dandy Jim. Come all ye bondmen far and near, Let's put a song in massa's ear, It is a song for our poor race, Who're whipped and trampled with disgrace. Chorus. My old massa tells me O This is a land of freedom O; Let's look about and see if't is so, Just as massa tells me O. He tells us of that glorious one, I think his name was Washington, How he did fight for liberty, To save a threepence tax on tea. Chorus. My old massa, &c. And then he tells us that there was A Constitution, with this clause, That all men equal were created, How often have we heard it stated. Chorus. My old massa, &c. But now we look about and see, That we poor blacks are not so free; We 're whipped and thrashed about like fools, And have no chance at common schools. Chorus. Still, my old massa, &c.