Chas. Fred White; Afro-American, September 1900

O, country, 'tis of thee,
Land of the Lynching Bee,
       Of thee I sing.
How long will this base wrong
Pollute thy freedom's song?
Perpetrated by a throng
       Of heartless fiends.

My native country, thee,
How I long to be free!
       Thy name to love.
I long to see the time
When this most heinous crime
Will be changed to deeds divine,
       Like those above.

Let wailings swell the breeze,
And ring from all the trees:
       "God's sill be done."
Let mortal souls awake--
Let all that breathe partake--
This spell of crime to break,
       Ere the nation's gone.

O gracious God, to thee,
In thine all-wise mercy,
       We now appeal!
May this land soon be brought
Out of this doom it's wrought;
For long, in vain, we've sought
       Freedom to feel.