My God! The chill, the chill of the metal
That bound countless slaves rushes through,
Stuns my body, my spirit, and the clinking
Of the links bids me stay and hear the tale.
These sad swings now tell of those times
In hell, where the very iron moved to pity,
Forced to children choke, for them would cry
To heaven the silent lament: help!
These chains were forced to pry men
From their mother land, the wives they loved,
To float away on Chiron’s barge to
World’s edge, by monsters ploughed away.
Against their will the shackles drew
The life-blood of mothers from their wrists,
And as the infants stilled lay slowly cooling,
So did the mother, her death the iron chilling.
So cold, the metal could not bear, but the butcher’s
Damned notes repeat, record, in their grim
Witness to the exodus reversed by devils
Coin seeking, and pleasure in the cries finding.
Behold: these are the manacles of God,
The bars which bound his twelve million
Hands, the nails that held Him once again
Amongst His children, to suffer with them.
Hear the gospel these bells proclaim,
Unlocked and open, the sacred blood
That makes them holy: on thy knees!
On thy knees and beg God’s Mercy!
See the manacles that bind you, that
Weigh the spirit down with you. Beware
That they drag you not with them. Let the iron
Slaves open, and relieve the metal others crushing.