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• 1 2023-10-24T17:03:27+00:00 A Voice from the Land of Bondage, by Sarah Joanna Williams 10 Poem by S. J. W. plain 2023-10-24T17:41:51+00:00
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  * * * * * *
  A sound arose, -- the voice of ancient wrong,
    Like rushing mighty waters, or the wind
  Sweeping through those old woods, that echoed long
    Wailings, until they left a voice behind,
  And thus it spake -- * * *
    "Think ye that slavery, which can conform 
  Man to the image of a brute, doth bring
    'Neath its dominion but the outward form?
  In limb and sinews only hath he been
  The bruised, broken reed which ye have seen?
  
  "Think ye, your ancestors, when first they brought 
    To these fair isles the curse of slavery,
  Merely some links of brass and iron wrought
    Into a chain? Can your state policy, 
  As hammers on the anvil, at one stroke
    Sever the fetters they imposed, and give
  To those who once have passed beneath the yoke, 
    And learnt but as another's tool to live,
  The hearts, the minds, the feelings of the free,
  The elevating thoughts that wait on Liberty?
  
  "Those they oppressed have spirits; -- can ye there
    Trace where the iron entered? Can ye see
  All that came with those chains, of which they were
    Only the emblems, the mere imagery?
  The mandates of your senates cannot reach 
    The bands impalpable that chain the soul, --
  Fear, superstition, ignorance; nor teach
    The mind to break at once from their control: 
  A higher power these evils must dispel,
  'Tis yours the teachings of that power to tell.
  
  "'Come unto me, all ye that labour, come 
    Ye heavy-laden, I will give you rest.'
  It is the import of these words brought home 
    Unto the spirit, maketh it possess'd
  Of all that sanctifieth liberty;
    Soft as refreshing gales breathe forth that word, 
  As music o'er the waters let it be,
    Here then in blessings will your names be heard: 
  How beautiful the feet of those who bring
  Glad tidings to a heart long suffering!
  
  "Deliverance to the slave! What heart now cold, 
    What spirits mingled with the holy dead,
  Have throbbed, have toiled, and struggled to behold
    The moment when that mandate should be read:
  Ye who have entered to their labours, ye
    Who reap what they have sown, to you appears 
  The dawn, and blessed are your eyes which see
    The light, theirs sought with weariness and tears: 
  Now be their names your watch-word -- be ye still 
  Fervent, the work of glory to fulfil.
  
  "'Tis something glorious to civilize
    Beings, whose powers have to themselves been lost,
  To teach the expanding faculties to prize 
    Science, and all her pleasure-yielding host;
  'Tis more, to give an anchor to the soul, 
    Steadfast and sure; to guide its course aright
  By love, that would be mighty to control, 
    Shewn by example in its holiest light:"
  Oh! that a thrilling voice like this might come,
  From those far isles, and reach us in our home.
  
  There, though oppression long hath shed its blight, 
    And made all light unto the spirit dim,
  Friends of the Negro! Lo! "The fields are white 
    Already to the harvest. Pray ye Him
  Who is the Lord of harvests, to send forth 
    Labourers into the harvest." May His peace
  Rest on that long-polluted spot of earth, 
    Making all cruelty and strife to cease.
  Late, tyrants claimed its people as their own,
  Now, may they be our God's, and His alone!
  
  S. J. W.