Escaped from all the perils of the sea,-
Storms, shoals,-the angry and engulphing waves,-
Here stand we, on a savage shore,-all free,
Thy freemen, Lord! and not of man the slaves.
Here will we toil and serve thee, till our graves
On these bleak hills shall open.-When the blood
Thou pourest now so warm along our veins
Shall westward flow, till Mississippi's flood
Gives to our children's children his broad plains,
Ne'er let them wear, O God, or forge a bondman's chains!