Classic Poem

God gave to Afric's sons
A brow of sable dye,
And spread the country of their birth,
Beneath a burning sky.

To me he gave a form
Of fairer, whiter clay; —
But am I, therefore, in his sight,
Respected more than they?

The hue of deeds and thoughts,
He traces in his book;
'Tis the complexion of the heart ,
On which he deigns to look.

Not by the tinted cheek,
That fades away so fast,
But by the color of the soul ,
We shall be judg'd at last.

The judge will look at me,
With anger in his eyes;
If I my brother's darker brow,
Should ever dare despise.