De yam will grow, de cotton blow, We'll hab de rice an' corn: O, nebber you fear, if nebber you hear We know de promise nebber fail, We lub him better free. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, He'll gib de rice and corn: So nebber you fear, if nebber you hear So sing our dusky gondoliers; And smiles that seem akin to tears, We dare not share the negro's trust, We only know that God is just, Rude seems the song; each swarthy face, We start to think that hapless race. That laws of changeless justice bind And, close as sin and suffering joined, We march to Fate abreast. Sing on, poor hearts! your chant shall be Our sign of blight or bloom, The Vala-song of Liberty, Or death-rune of our doom! With slow tread and still tread By the gaunt and shadowy pine; Gives no warning sign. The dark wave, the plumed wave, A sharp clang, a steel clang, In the camp a spy hath found; With calm brow, steady brow, He listens to his doom; In his look there is no fear, Nor a shadow-trace of gloom; But with calm brow and steady brow He robes him for the tomb. In the long night, the still night, 'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn, He dies upon the tree ; And he mourns that he can lose But one life for Liberty; And in the blue morn, the sunny morn, His spirit-wings are free. But his last words, his message-words, With his last words, his dying words, From Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, The sad of earth, the glad of heaven, |