Classic Poem

From ev'ry clime beneath the skies,
Profan'd by slavery's reign,
The pray'rs of captive millions rise; —
And shall they rise in vain?

Shall man, in brief author'ty dress'd,
His fellow-worm enthrall,
And rudely from his brother wrest
A boon, design'd for all?

But so it is; yet, not unpaid,
His tyranny prevails;
For all his barb'rous deeds are weigh'd
In heav'n's unerring scales.

Each bursting sigh, each bitter tear,
Each bosom's tortur'd beat,
Shall all in dread array appear,
Before the judgment-seat.