Come back to me, mother! why linger away From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day! I mark every footstep, I list to each tone, And wonder my mother should leave me alone! There are voices of sorrow, and voices of glee, But there's no one to joy or to sorrow with me; For each hath of pleasure and trouble his share, And none for the poor little blind boy will care. My mother, come back to me! close to thy breast Once more let thy poor little blind one be pressed; Once more let me feel thy warm breath on my cheek, And hear thee in accents of tenderness speak! O mother! I've no one to love me--no heart Can bear like thine own in my sorrows a part; No hand is so gentle, no voice is so kind, O! none like a mother can cherish the blind! Poor blind one! No mother thy wailing can hear, No mother can hasten to banish thy fear; For the slave-owner drives her, o'er mountain and wild, And for one paltry dollar hath sold thee, poor child! Ah! who can in language of mortals reveal The anguish that none but a mother can feel, When man in his vile lust of mammon hath trod On her child, who is stricken and smitten of God! Blind, helpless, forsaken, with strangers alone, She hears in her anguish his piteous moan, As he eagerly listens--but listens in vain, To catch the loved tones of his mother again! The curse of the broken in spirit shall fall On the wretch who hath mingled this wormwood and gall, And his gain like a mildew shall blight and destroy, Who hath torn from his mother the little blind boy! YE SONS OF FREEMEN. AIR--Marseilles Hymn. Ye sons of freemen wake to sadness, Hark! hark, what myriads bid you rise; Three millions of our race in madness Break out in wails, in bitter cries, Break out in wails, in bitter cries, Must men whose hearts now bleed with anguish, Yes, trembling slaves in freedom's land, Endure the lash, nor raise a hand? Must nature 'neath the whip-cord languish? Have pity on the slave, Take courage from God's word; Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free. The fearful storm--it threatens lowering, Which God in mercy long delays; Slaves yet may see their masters cowering, While whole plantations smoke and blaze! While whole plantations smoke and blaze; And we may now prevent the ruin, Ere lawless force with guilty stride Shall scatter vengeance far and wide-- With untold crimes their hands imbruing. Have pity on the slave; Take courage from God's word; Pray on, pray on, all hearts resolved--these captives shall be free.