Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1846-07-10
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For The Ante iarery Bugk.
A WORD FOR THE SLAVE.
BY THOMAS wIcKERsHAM.

A WOKD FOK 1HE SLAN IL.
BY THOMAS w~ICKERsHAM.
Toiling, ever toiling,
Is the weary, weary slave,
From the morning TO the evening
From his childhood TO his grave.
Sick at heart and fainting,
With his heavy burdens sore,
Till the burning weight of anguish
Cankers at his bosom's core.
Driven, rudely driven
Like a beast of burden on,
Till the God-like soul of manhood
Is forever crushed and gone.
Stricken, wasted, dying,
Onward is he urged to toll,
Till the chord Of life is severed,
And he sleeps beneath the soil
Sleeps for aye-forgotten,
Mingling with the clammy sod,
While his doomed and fettered children,
Till the soil their father trod.
Toiling, ever toiling,
Ceaseless as the rising sun,
Each succeeding generation
Toileth as the former one.
Oh! it is most awful,
Living as the bondmen live,
Through a lifetime dark and dreary,
That no ray of hope can give.
And it is so wicked
To deprive them of their right,
And to 1uench the fount of feeling,
And to smother reasons light.
Why is this my brothers,
That no hand of mercy saves
From the bitter pangs of thraldom,
Our woe-str:cken fettered slaves!
Wherefore are we lying,
Calmly on a bed of ease,
While the tones of hopeless anguish
Burden every summer breeze!
Is the soul of freedom
Quite departed from our hearts,
That when millions are down-trampled,
No kind sympathy upstairs!
Think of this, my brothers,
What if you yourselves were slaves,
Doomed to be a troop of chattels,
From your birthdays to your graves
Would you take it kindly
If your brothers who were free,
And to loose you had the power,
Should stand by and let you be!
Would they do their duty,
If they needed not your thrall1
Would you call Them goodly Christians,
If they helped you none at all!
Think of this, my sisters
Think of woman bought and sold
Sold as swine at public auction
Bought with lust-polluted gold!
Think of her as trembling
In the market-place she stands,
With the chain upon her a lkles,
And the letters on her hands!
Trembling like the aspen
Like a lamb for slaughter, dumb,
Waiting while the sale progresses
Waiting for her turn 10 come.
Heaving is her bosom,
With the dread of severed ties,
While a husband or a lover,
Looketh on with ~anguished eyes!
Fearing that forever
They shall sundered be apart,
Doomed TO bear within each bosom,
A forloIn and broken heart.
Underneath the hammer
OF the heartless auctioneer,
She is bartered to the trader
Twas her darkest, widest fear.
Chained within the cofle,
She is driven far away,
While her innocence and virtue
Arc to brutal lust a prey!
Sisters-Oh! my sisters,
Will you see the fell control
See the curse of vile oppression,
Crushing, blighting woman's soul
And repose supinely
In the lap of luxury,
While the curse is on your sisters,
A2d the blight of slavery!
Never, neUer, NEvER,
BE it said that woman's heart,
Tween the good deed and the evil,
Failed to choose the better part.
MEMORY.
Let fate do her worst,
There are moments of Joy,
Bright dreams of the past
Which she cannot destroy;
And which come in the nighttime
OF sorrow and care,
To bring back the features