WELCOME TO “THE RISING SON.”

Come forth, historian of our race, And with the pen of Truth Bring to our claim to Manhood’s rights, The strength of written proof; Draw back the curtain of the past, And lift the ages’ pall, That we may view the portraits grand That hang on History’s wall! Tell of a race whose onward tide Was often swelled with tears; In whose hearts bondage has not quenched The fire of former years When Hannibal’s resistless hosts Wrought his imperial will, And brave Toussaint to freedom called, From Hayti’s vine-clad hill. Write when, in these, our later days, Earth’s noble ones are named, We have a roll of honor, too, Of which we’re not ashamed; If, for the errors of the past, In chains did we atone, God, from our race’s sepulchre, Hath rolled away the stone. And our dear land, that long hath slept Beneath oppression’s spell, Welcomes the manly fortitude That stood the test so well; Bearing the record, blazoned o’er With deeds of valor done, Up to the Future’s golden door He comes, the “Rising Son.” The battle’s din hath passed away, And o’er the furrowed plain Spring, fresh and green, the tender blades Of Freedom’s golden grain; But eagle eyes must watch the field, Lest the fell foe should dare To scatter, while the sowers sleep, Proscription’s noxious snare. Lo! shadowy ’mid the forest-trees Their demon forms are seen, And lurid light of baleful eyes Flash through the foliage green; And till completed is the work So gloriously begun, A sentry true on Freedom’s walls Stand thou, O “Rising Son!” Go forth! the harbinger of days More glorious than the past; Hushed is the clash of hostile steel, The bugle’s battle-blast; Go, herald of the promised time, When men of every land Shall hasten joyfully to grasp The Ethiope’s outstretched hand!