Yes, Ethiopia yet shall stretch Her bleeding hands abroad; Her cry of agony shall reach Up to the throne of God. The tyrant's yoke from off her neck, His fetters from her soul, The mighty hand of God shall break, And spurn the base control. Redeemed from dust and freed from chains, Her sons shall lift their eyes; From cloud-capt hills and verdant plains Shall shouts of triumph rise. Upon her dark, despairing brow Shall play a smile of peace; For God shall bend unto her woe, And bid her sorrows cease. 'Neath sheltering vines and stately palms Shall laughing children play, And aged sires with joyous psalms Shall gladden every day. Secure by night, and blest by day, Shall pass her happy hours; Nor human tigers hunt for prey Within her peaceful bowers. Then, Ethiopia, stretch, O stretch Thy bleeding hands abroad! Thy cry of agony shall reach And find redress from God. THE HOUR OF FREEDOM.[3] BY WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. The hour of freedom! come it must. O hasten it, in mercy, Heaven! When all who grovel in the dust Shall stand erect, their fetters riven; When glorious freedom shall be won By every caste, complexion, clime; When tyranny shall be o'erthrown, And _color_ cease to be a _crime_. FOOTNOTE: [3] Written in 1832. WILLIAM BOEN. BY L. MARIA CHILD. William Boen was born in 1735, one hundred and thirty years ago. He was the slave of a man who lived near Mount Holly, in New Jersey. His master and most of the neighbors belonged to the Society of Friends, commonly called Quakers. That Society made it a rule that none of their members should hold a slave, long before the people of any other sect were convinced that slavery was wrong. But at the time William Boen was born some of the Quakers did hold slaves, though many of their members were preaching against it.