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THE LUTE OF AFRIC'S TRIBE.
To the memory of Dr. J. McSimpson, a colored Author of Anti-Slavery Ballads. Written for the Zanesville, O., Courier.
When Israel sate by Babel's stream and wept, The heathen said, "Sing one of Zion's songs;" But tuneless lay the lyre of those who slept Where Sharon bloomed and Oreb vigil kept; For holy song to holy ears belongs.
So, when her iron clutch the Slave power reached, And sable generations captive held; When Wrong the gospel of endurance preached; The lute of Afric's tribe, tho' oft beseeched, In all its wild, sweet warblings never swelled.
And yet when Freedom's lispings o'er it stole, Soft as the breath of undefiled morn, A wand'ring accent from its strings would stroll— Thus was our Simpson, man of song and soul, And stalwart energies, to bless us born.
When all our nation's sky was overcast With rayless clouds of deepening misery, His soaring vision mounted thro' the blast, And from behind its gloom approaching fast, Beheld the glorious Sun of Liberty.