Classic Poem

Mother! whene'er, around your child,
You clasp your arms in love,
And when, with grateful joy, you raise
Your eyes to God above; —
Think of the wretched mother, when
Her child is torn away,
Sold for a slave; and will you not
For that poor mother pray?

Father! whene'er your happy boys
You gaze upon with pride,
And hope to see them, when you're old,
Stand faithful by your side; —
Think of that father's wither'd heart,
The father of a slave,
Who asks a pitying God to give
His little son a grave!

Brothers and sisters! who with joy
Meet round the social hearth,
And talk of home and happy days,
And laugh in careless mirth; —
Remember, too, the poor young slave,
Who never felt your joy;
Who, worn with toil, has never known
The bliss to be a boy!

Ye Christians! followers of him,
Who came to make men free,
When, at th' Almighty Maker's throne,
You bend the suppliant knee; —
From the deep fountains of your souls,
Let fervent pray'r ascend
For the poor slave, who hardly knows,
That God is still his friend.