Robert C O Benjamin

Whilst perusing exchanges their dispositions I've traced,
I've paid some attention to their mode of embrace;
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'Oh! for a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer's praise;
The glories of my Lord and King,
The triumphs of His grace.'
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Had a pretty little dream,
A pretty little wedding
Is this pretty little theme;
A pretty little bachelor thought he
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There's a nook far over the sea,
Where the lady I love was born,
It's the dearest spot on earth to me.
And as sweet as the first of May morn.
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'Tis but a little dying flower,
But ah, how beautious fair,
Its sweetness gains a hundred fold.
By twining in her hair.
Methinks its beauty in it ...
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I dreamed that I loved a sweet maiden,
With hair of bright rippling gold;
And the story I told of my love to her
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Lonely and cheerless, the drear days are passing,
No home and no comfort, they bring to my mind;
Sadly and hopeless, the dark nights surround me,
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Changed? Nay, I'll ne'er confess that I have changed.
My heart still loves you, in its old fond way,
The only change that in my breast finds room,
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Colored heroes seek your standard,
Know you not the foemen's near,
Know you not how they'll enslave you,
You and yours, who are so dear.
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I have loved thee fond and truly,
In years that have passed away,
And I love thee now as dearly
As upon our bridal day.
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Darkest clouds of blackest Hades,
Whirling onward into space;
Full of forms of ghostly horrors,
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Into the great unknown,
Bravely he departed,
Loved ones, left behind,
Drooping, broken-hearted,
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I am all alone in the world;
How sad and dreary my way;
No kindly smile, or loving word,
To wish me return of the day.
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Sweetest lady, beautious, fair,
Thou alone my heart shall share,
Or if that can never be,
It shall be untrammeled free.
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Though we love, yet we must part, dear,
And 'tis perhaps best thus to be;
Whilst you keep with you my heart, dear,
Leave your own in charge of me.
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Ambition, wealth, yea, life itself,
All stand for naught when love is crowned,
It reigns supreme in human hearts,
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Oh! ye men of color, wake to glory!
Too long have you been the serfs of wealth;
Too long have you been their willing slaves,
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There are none so happy as my love and I,
None so joyous, blythe and free;
The reason is, that I love her,
...