The Abolitionist Hymn

We ask not that the slave should lie
As lies his master, at his ease,
Beneath a silken canopy
Or in the shade of blooming trees.

We ask not "eye for eye," that all,
Who forge the chain and ply the whip,
Should feel their torture; while the thrall
Should wield the scourge of mastership.

We mourn not that the man should toil
'Tis nature's need, 'tis God's decree;
But let the hand that tills the soil
Be, like the wind that fans it, free.
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