Make me a grave where'er you will,
In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;
Make it among earth's humblest graves,
But not in a land where men are slaves.
I could not rest if around my grave
I heard the steps of a trembling slave;
His shadow above my silent tomb
Would make it a place of fearful gloom.
I could not rest if I heard the tread
Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,
And the mother's shriek of wild despair
Rise like a curse on the trembling air.
I could not sleep if I saw the lash
Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,
And I saw her babes torn from her breast,
Like trembling doves from their parent nest.
I'd shudder and start if I heard the bay
Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,
And I heard the captive plead in vain
As they bound afresh his galling chain.
If I saw young girls from their mother's arms
Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,
My eye would flash with a mournful flame,
My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.
I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might
Can rob no man of his dearest right;
My rest shall be calm in any grave
Where none can call his brother a slave.
I ask no monument, proud and high,
To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;
All that my yearning spirit craves,
Is bury me not in a land of slaves.
In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;
Make it among earth's humblest graves,
But not in a land where men are slaves.
I could not rest if around my grave
I heard the steps of a trembling slave;
His shadow above my silent tomb
Would make it a place of fearful gloom.
I could not rest if I heard the tread
Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,
And the mother's shriek of wild despair
Rise like a curse on the trembling air.
I could not sleep if I saw the lash
Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,
And I saw her babes torn from her breast,
Like trembling doves from their parent nest.
I'd shudder and start if I heard the bay
Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,
And I heard the captive plead in vain
As they bound afresh his galling chain.
If I saw young girls from their mother's arms
Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,
My eye would flash with a mournful flame,
My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.
I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might
Can rob no man of his dearest right;
My rest shall be calm in any grave
Where none can call his brother a slave.
I ask no monument, proud and high,
To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;
All that my yearning spirit craves,
Is bury me not in a land of slaves.
Contributed by Pluck - 2023/4/29 - 10:13
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Library of Congress - Poetry of America - 15 Gennaio 2013.
D. A. Powell reads and discusses Frances E. W. Harper's "Bury Me in a Free Land"
Born Frances Watkins, Frances was the child of free black parents living in Baltimore. Following the death of her mother, Harper lived with her maternal aunt and uncle. The uncle, a clergyman, ran a school for black children and it was there that Harper learned to read, write, and sew. But more importantly, she learned the importance of civil rights and she became a life-long advocate and worker for social reforms. After moving to Ohio, she became the first woman teacher at the Union Seminary and she joined the American Anti-Slavery Society for whom she became a popular orator. Frances Harper’s first book of poems was published at the age of 20, but it is her later poems on miscellaneous subjects that enjoyed wide-spread popularity, going through 20 printings, and included the popular poem “Bury Me in a Free Land.” After her death in 1911, Harper herself was buried in the Eden Cemetery in Collingdale, outside Philadelphia. The cemetery was originally a potters’ field, but it was converted to a burial place for African Americans who wanted a space where they could honor their dead with funerals that incorporated customs and traditions brought from Africa. A place where markers could be placed in respect of their generations who came here in chains and who fought for the rights and freedoms of their descendants, and indeed of all Americans. A tireless suffragist and abolitionist, Harper saw the transformation of this country from a land of inequality to a place of promise and hope. “Bury Me in a Free Land” reminds us that America includes many kinds of journeys out of oppression, captivity, exploitation, and tyranny. And that we still have so very far to go to protect our rights and freedoms for all.
D. A. Powell .