My country! ’tis of thee,
Stronghold of slavery,
Of thee I sing:
Land where my fathers died,
Where men man’s rights deride,
From every mountainside,
Thy deeds shall ring.
My native country! thee,
Where all men are born free,
If white their skin:
I love thy hills and dales,
Thy mounts and pleasant vales,
But hate thy negro sales,
As foulest sin.
Let wailing swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees,
The black man’s wrong;
Let every tongue awake,
Let bond and free partake,
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound prolong.
Our Father’s God! To thee,
Author of Liberty,
To thee we sing;
Soon may our land be bright,
With holy freedom’s right,
Protect us by they might,
Great God, our King.
Stronghold of slavery,
Of thee I sing:
Land where my fathers died,
Where men man’s rights deride,
From every mountainside,
Thy deeds shall ring.
My native country! thee,
Where all men are born free,
If white their skin:
I love thy hills and dales,
Thy mounts and pleasant vales,
But hate thy negro sales,
As foulest sin.
Let wailing swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees,
The black man’s wrong;
Let every tongue awake,
Let bond and free partake,
Let rocks their silence break,
The sound prolong.
Our Father’s God! To thee,
Author of Liberty,
To thee we sing;
Soon may our land be bright,
With holy freedom’s right,
Protect us by they might,
Great God, our King.
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