O'er this wide extended country, 
Hear the solemn echoes roll, 
For a long and weary century, 
Those cries have gone from pole to pole; 

See the white man sway his sceptre,
In one hand he holds the rod—
In the other hand the Scripture, 
And says that he's a man of God. 

Hear ye that mourning? 'Tis your brothers' cry! 
O! ye wicked men take warning, 
The day will come when you must die. 

Lo! Ten thousand steeples shining 
Through this mighty Christian land, 
While four millions slaves all pining 
And dying 'neath the Tyrant's hand. 

See the "blood-stained" Christian banner 
Followed by a host of saints 
While they loudly sing Hosannah, 
We hear the dying slave's complaints: 

Hear ye that mourning? Anglo-sons of God, 
O! ye Hypocrites take warning, 
And shun your sable brothers blood.