Classic Poem

Will none befriend that poor dumb brute,
Will no man rescue him?
With weaker effort, gasping, mute,
He strains in every limb;

Spare him, O spare! He feels, he feels!
Big tears roll from his eyes;
Another crushing blow! — He reels,
Staggers — and falls — and dies.

Poor jaded horse, the blood runs cold
Thy guiltless wrongs to see;
To Heav'n, O starved one! lame and old,
Thy dim eye pleads for thee.

Thou too, O dog, whose faithful zeal
Fawns on some ruffian grim,
He stripes thy skin with many a weal,
And yet — thou lovest him.

Shame! that of all the living chain
That links creation's plan,
There is but one delights in pain,
The savage monarch — man!

O, Cruelty! who could rehearse
Thy million dismal deeds,
Or track the workings of the curse
By which all nature bleeds?

Thou meanest crime, thou coward sin,
Thou base, flint-hearted vice —
Scorpion! to sting thy heart within
Thyself shall all suffice;

The merciless is doubly curst,
As mercy is " twice blest; "
Vengeance, tho' slow, shall come; but first
The vengeance of the breast.

Why add another wo to life,
Man? — are there not enough?
Why lay thy weapon to the strife?
Why make the road more rough?

Faint, hunger-sick, old, blind, and ill,
The poor, or man or beast,
Can battle on with life uphill,
And bear its griefs at least;

Truly, their cup of gall o'erflows!
But, when the spite of men
Adds poison to the draught of woes,
Who, who can drink it then?

Heard ye that shriek? — O wretch, forbear!
Fling down thy bloody knife:
In fear, if not in pity, spare
A woman, and a wife!

For thee she toils, unchiding, mild,
And for thy children wan,
Beaten, and starved — with famine wild,
To feast thee, selfish man:

Husband, and father — drunkard, fiend!
Thy wife's, thy children's moan
Has won for innocence a friend —
Has reach'd thy Judge's throne;

Their lives thou madest sad; but worse
Thy deathless doom shall be:
" No MERCY " is the withering curse
Thy Judge has passed on thee:

Heap on, heap on! fresh torments add:
New schemes of torture plan;
No MERCY ! Mercy's self is glad
To damn the cruel man.

God! God! thy whole creation groans,
Thy fair world writhes in pain;
Shall the dread incense of its moans
Arise to Thee in vain?

The hollow eye of famine pleads,
The face with weeping pale,
The heart that all in secret bleeds,
The grief that tells no tale,

Oppression's victim, weak and mild,
Scarce shrinking from the blow,
And the poor wearied factory child,
Join in the dirge of wo.

O, cruel world! O, sickening fear
Of goad, or knife, or thong!
O, load of evils ill to bear!
— How long, good God, how long?