Classic Poem

Father of all the human race! —
The white or color'd, bond or free —
Thanks for thy gifts of heav'nly grace,
Vouchsaf'd through Jesus Christ to me.

'Tis this, mid ev'ry cruel wrong,
Has borne my sinking spirits up,
Made sorrow joyful — weakness strong,
And sweeten'd Slavery's bitter cup.

Hath not a Savior's dying hour
Made e'n the yoke of thraldom light?
Hath not thy Holy Spirit's pow'r,
Made bondage freedom — darkness bright?

Thanks, then, O Father! for the gift,
Thou in thy Son to me hath giv'n;
Which thus, from bonds and earth, can lift
The soul to liberty and heav'n.

But not the less I mourn their shame,
Who, heedless of Thy gracious will;
Call on a Father's — Savior's name,
Yet keep their brethren bondsmen still!

Forgive them, Lord! for Jesus sake,
And when thou hast the slave unbound;
The chains which bind th' oppressor break,
And be thy love's last triumph crown'd.