Slaveholder's Lament.

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Words by L. P. Judson.
Music arranged from "Lucy Neal," by G. W. C.

What shall we do? Slaveholders cry,
O'erwhelmed with dreadful grief,
Slavery we fear must quickly die,
Unless we find relief.
Fanatics labor night and day,
The North is in a blaze,
While

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in the South there's many a man
Fears not his voice to raise.

We preach and print in every mood,
And rob the "negro pen,"
Railroads and stages through the wood,
Take "things" and make them men;
But worst of all, the Free soil crew
Seem reckless of our fate
Of all the acts we've seen them do,
The vote's the thing we hate.

These are our fears, and this our dread,
They're based on grounds too true,
That slavery soon must yield its head,
And vanish like the dew;
The old "North Star" we've voted down,
And told him not to shine,
But still he gives Victoria's crown
These "things" from Southern clime.

We've worked and toiled, and raved and foamed,
And hoped to keep them down
By prayers to Congress snugly room'd,
Unread, referr'd, or known;
We've robb'd the mail, and taken lives,
And then to fright the rest,
We've brandished rifles, bowie-knives,
"Cold steel and Dupont's best."

What shall we do? O what, say what?
Our foes increase and rise,
Old Slavery reels! The fever's hot
She pants — she gasps — she dies,
What shall we do? We'll give it up,
And with the North agree,
To take the draught from freedom's cup,
LET ALL MANKIND BE FREE.