Classic Poem

He wandered through the earth despised,
Condemned of men;
Hunted was he from every cave,
And sheltering den.

Upon his brow he wore a brand,
And on his back:
A thousand stripes for it he bore:
His skin was black.

One day he stood at Heaven's gate,
His toil was o'er:
He entered, stood before his God.
His soul was pure.