Born 'Mid The Storm

from by Carl Thomas Gladstone



I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary,
Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast;
I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary,
I lament for her woes, and her wrongs unredressed,

O who can imagine her heart's deep emotion,
As she thinks of her children about to be sold;
You may picture the bounds of the rock-girdled ocean,
But the grief of that mother can never be known.

Rejoice, O rejoice! for the child thou art rearing,
May one day lift up its unmanacled form,
While hope, to thy heart, like the rain-bow so cheering,
Is born, like the rain-bow, 'mid tempest and storm.

Her parents, her kindred, all crushed by oppression;
Her husband still doomed in its desert to stay;
No arm to protect from the tyrants aggression—
She must weep as she treads on her desolate way.

O, slave mother, hope! see—the nation is shaking!
The arm of the Lord is awake to thy wrong!
The slave-holder's heart now with terror is quaking,
Salvation and Mercy to Heaven belong!


from The Abolitionist Hymnal, released July 1, 2011




Carl Thomas Gladstone Detroit, Michigan

As a music and mischief maker on the prophetic edge Carl writes music as a discipline of justice-seeking and disruptive discipleship. He writes to engage people of faith and of no faith in deep questions and engaging stories that matter for the world.

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