Two Poems by George Moses Horton

“Praise of Creation”

Creation fires my tongue!

Nature thy anthems raise;

And spread the universal song

Of thy Creator's praise!

Heaven's chief delight was Man

Before Creation's birth--

Ordained with joy to lead the van,

And reign the lord of earth.

When Sin was quite unknown,

And all the woes it brought,

He hailed the morn without a groan

Or one corroding thought.

When each revolving wheel

Assumed its sphere sublime,

Submissive Earth then heard the peal,

And struck the march of time.

The march in Heaven begun,

And splendor filled the skies,

When Wisdom bade the morning Sun

With joy from chaos rise.

The angels heard the tune

Throughout creation ring;

They seized their golden harps as soon

And touched on every string.

When time and space were young,

And music rolled along--

The morning stars together sung,

And Heaven was drown'd in song.

Ye towering eagles soar,

And fan Creation's blaze,

And ye terrific lions roar,

To your Creator's praise.

Responsive thunders roll,

Loud acclamations sound,

And show your Maker's vast control

O'er all the worlds around.

Stupendous mountains smoke,

And lift your summits high,

To him who all your terrors woke,

Dark'ning the sapphire sky.

Now let my muse descend,

To view the march below--

Ye subterraneous worlds attend

And bid your chorus flow.

Ye vast volcanoes yell

Whence fiery cliffs are hurled;

And all ye liquid oceans swell

Beneath the solid world.

Ye cataracts combine,

Nor let the pæan cease--

The universal concert join,

Thou dismal precipice.

But halt my feeble tongue,

My weary muse delays:

But, oh my soul, still float along

Upon the flood of praise!

On Liberty and Slavery

Alas! and am I born for this,

To wear this slavish chain?

Deprived of all created bliss,

Through hardship, toil and pain!

How long have I in bondage lain,

And languished to be free!

Alas! and must I still complain--

Deprived of liberty.

Oh, Heaven! and is there no relief

This side the silent grave--

To soothe the pain--to quell the grief

And anguish of a slave?

Come Liberty, thou cheerful sound,

Roll through my ravished ears!

Come, let my grief in joys be drowned,

And drive away my fears.

Say unto foul oppression, Cease:

Ye tyrants rage no more,

And let the joyful trump of peace,

Now bid the vassal soar.

Soar on the pinions of that dove

Which long has cooed for thee,

And breathed her notes from Afric's grove,

The sound of Liberty.

Oh, Liberty! thou golden prize,

So often sought by blood--

We crave thy sacred sun to rise,

The gift of nature's God!

Bid Slavery hide her haggard face,

And barbarism fly:

I scorn to see the sad disgrace

In which enslaved I lie.

Dear Liberty! upon thy breast,

I languish to respire;

And like the Swan unto her nest,

I'd to thy smiles retire.

Oh, blest asylum--heavenly balm!

Unto thy boughs I flee--

And in thy shades the storm shall calm,

With songs of Liberty!