Arouse, New-England's Sons!

(Continued from opposite page.)

Free! while the halls ye rear are burned?
Free! while your sons are driven
By Slavery's mobs, because they dare
To speak for Truth and Heaven?
Free! while the very homes you've made
Beside your fathers' graves
Are pillaged, if ye dare to aid
The panting, flying slave?

Arouse, New-England's sons, arouse!
And lay Oppression low;

And strike for Freedom and for God
An earnest, manly blow.
Nail up your banner to the wall:
In God's name let it wave,
Until beneath its ample folds
Shall crouch no wretched slave.

National Hymn.

BY REV. JOHN PIERPONT.
TUNE, "Amèrica," page 2.
GOD of this glorious earth,
Who seest the nations' birth,
Growth, pride, and fall,
Let ours thy favor share,
Be ours thy constant care,
While with loud song and prayer
On thee we call.

Let health and heart, O Lord!
Her manly toil reward;

Let arts of Peace,

Of patient labor born,
Her halls, her fanes, adorn;
And Plenty fill her horn
With large increase.
When in a righteous cause
She hears thy call, and draws
Her sword or bow,

Lend her thy spear and shield;
Teach her those arms to wield,
And from the battle-field

Conqueror to go.

Should Treason's bloody hand
Be lifted, and the land

Quake with alarm,
Then clothe her in thy might,-
The strength that robes the Right,-
And let thy lightning smite

The traitor's arm.

Temperance Hymn.

WITH banner and with badge we come,
An army true and strong,
To fight against the hosts of Rum;
And this shall be our song:-
"We love the clear cold-water springs,
Supplied by gentle showers:

To feel the strength cold water brings,
The victory is ours."

"Cold-water Army" is our name: Oh! may we faithful be,

And so in truth and justice claim
The blessings of the free.
We love, &c.

Though others love their rum and wine,
And drink till they are mad,

To water we will still incline,
To make us strong and glad.

I pledge to thee this hand of mine In faith and friendship strong; And, fellow-soldiers, we will join The chorus of our song.

Wipe out, O God! the Nation's Sin.

THE land our fathers left to us

Is foul with hateful sin:

When shall, O Lord! this sorrow end, And hope and joy begin?

What good, though growing might and wealth

Shall stretch from shore to shore, If thus the fatal poison-taint

Be only spread the more?

Wipe out, O God! the nation's sin;
Then swell the nation's power:
But build not high our yearning hopes,
To wither in an hour.

No outward show nor fancied strength From thy stern justice saves:

There is no liberty for them

Who make their brethren slaves.