Gone, Sold and Gone.

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Words by Whittier. Music by G. W. Clark.

Gone, gone — sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings,
Where the noisome insect stings,
Where the fever demon

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strews
Poison with the falling dews,
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air, —

Gone, gone — sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and

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waters, —
Woe is me my stolen daughters!

2. Gone, gone — sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash,
Shall a mother's kindness bless them,
Or a mother's arms caress them.

Gone, gone — sold and gone,
To the rice swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters, —
Woe is me my stolen daughters!

Gone, gone — sold and gone,
To the rice-swamped and and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go,
Faint with toil, and rack'd with pain,
To their cheerless homes again —
There no brother's voice shall greet them —
There no father's welcome meet them. — Gone,&c.

Gone, gone — sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play —
From the cool spring where they drank —
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank —
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there. — Gone, &c.

Gone, gone — sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the Spoiler's prey;
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er,
And the fetter galls no more! — Gone, &c.

Gone, gone — sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
By the holy love He beareth —
By the bruised reed He spareth —
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mothers love. — Gone, &c.