I was once a freeborn seamstress in the town of Baltimore

When my son a fine girl courted, nothing could have pleased me more

Young Lear Green of eighteen summers, full of modesty and grace

Nor could years of bonded service tear the beauty from her face.

When my William offered marriage, gladly would she be his wife

“But,” said she, “how can I be yours when I cannot claim my life?

How can I your children bear you when they may be snatched away?

When I breathe the air of freedom, then shall be our wedding day.”

“Seal me in a sailor’s old chest, ship me to the north by freight.”

“No, my child, I could not bear it if you met an evil fate.”

I would sooner give my right arm or pluck out my good right eye

Than be shut into that coffin and endure that dreadful ride.

But she would not be discouraged, such young hope burned in her breast

So with quilt and food and water Lear lay silent in the chest

I too boarded the same steamer to supply what aid I could

While the girl I loved as daughter trembled in her tomb of wood.

Once and once again I sought her through the watches of the night

Though I dared not speak a whisper nor reveal a ray of light

Soft I stepped among the cargo, loosed the rope and raised the lid

Just to give a breath of clean air and to hear if she yet lived.

But no doubt our earnest praying found the good Lord’s faithful ear

And some guarding angel kept her, kissed her heart and calmed her fear

Eighteen hours to Philadelphia, where with trusted friends beside

Lear arose to hope and freedom, glad and fair as any bride.