My Country by Sarah Louisa Forten Purvis

Oh! speak not of heathenish darkness again, Nor tell me of lands held in error’s dread chain! Where⁠—where is the nation so erring as we, Who claim the proud name of the “ home of the free ”! What a throb do the lov’d ties of country awake In the heart of the exile!⁠—for time cannot break The sweet vision of home, and all he loved well, Which has thrown o’er his pathway a magical spell. Can the name of “ my country ”⁠—the deeds which we sing⁠— Be honored⁠—revered⁠—’midst pollution and sin? Can the names of our fathers who perished in fight, Be hallowed in story, midst slavery’s blight? When America’s standard is floating so fair, I blush that the impress of falsehood is there; That oppression and mockery dim the high fame, That seeks from all nations a patriot’s name. Speak not of “my country,” unless she shall be, In truth, the bright home of the “brave and the free!” Till the dark stain of slavery is washed from her hand, A tribute of homage she cannot command.