Classic Poem

Ye people of God! ye disciples of him,
Who bled on the cross for the sins of mankind!
Ye Christians! on whom inspiration's bright beam
Hath shone,—hear the cry of the poor and the blind.

Oh! pity, ye servants of God! the poor slave,
And tell him of Jesus, the Savior, who died,
The poor and the rich, bond and freemen to save;
What mean ye the way of salvation to hide?

We ask not for freedom—though claiming the boon,
Our birthright by nature—so nature declares;
We wait with submission, be't later or soon,
While God, the avenger, his judgments forbears.

We ask—yea and more—in God's name, we demand
The Bible, and knowledge, the Scriptures to use;
We claim, O ye Christians! we claim, at your hand,
The gospel of Jesus;—and can you refuse?

You may, as you've done in the days that have past;
But, mark ye! there cometh a reckoning day;
It cometh—though late—it will come at the last;
And then oh!—what will ye be able to say?