Thy magic pen a power wields,
More potent than the steel-clad hosts,
With glittering swords, and myriad shields;
Who guard around Oppression's posts.
Thou sawest thy brother, bruised, and bow'd,
Tho' clothed in Afric's hated hue;
Thou heard'st him groan, and cry aloud,
And to thy woman's heart proved true.
Unto his wrongs thou gav'st an ear;
Unto his wounds thou gav'st a tongue;
A list'ning world, came nigh to hear
Thee sing the burthen of his song.
The Britton heard it on the strand,
The Frank upon the Elysee,
The Arab on his Arid sand,
The Russ upon the Baltic sea,
The Greek upon his Island home,
The German at his classic lore;
'Twas heard along the streets of Rome,
And e'en on Afric's dusky shore,
In Birmah, China and Japan,
Myriads thy magic power own;
And "'long the streets of Ispahan,"
Thy "Uncle Tom" and Cassy's known
Truth, mighty is the falchion bright:
Which thou with mystic arm doth wield,
And her attendants love, and light
These are thy buckler and thy shield.