Hurrah for the fourth of July!
Throw out your flag to the breeze!
Let your wild shouts ascend the sky,
And be merry and gay as you please.
But sad is the day to me,
For sad are the thoughts it wakes
Of the millions in slavery,
Of whose woes my soul partakes.
Every cut of the lash I feel!
Their fetters my own limbs bear,
And their deeper griefs which words but conceal
My spirit doth with them share!
I feel as the slave-mother, when
Her babe from her bosom is torn
By demons incarnate in men
Who God and humanity scorn.
I feel as the loving wife feels
When her husband is snatched away;
As the fugitive, when at his heels
He hears the fierce bloodhound's bay;
And I scorn your hollow pageantry,
And your false and mocking show
Got up in the name of Liberty,
Who was murdered long ago!