Classic Poem

Forgive me, Lord! for in my pride,
I scorn'd the Ethiop's race;
And thought they were too darkly dy'd
To have a brother's place.

And when the bondman wept and cried, —
" Help! Help! thy brother save! " —
" Peace! wretched one! " I sharp replied:
" God made thee thus a slave. "

Thus, from the image of my God,
The offspring of his breath,
The object of a Savior's love,
The purchase of his death.

I turned away; and proudly pray'd,
" I thank thee, God of grace!
That I of better earth was made,
Than Ham's accursed race. "

O Lord! my pride I now confess,
With shame, before thy feet;
I'll vanquish all my haughtiness,
And take the lowest seat.

No more the injur'd slave shall pine,
While none his sorrows move;
His wounds I'll soothe with oil and wine,
His aching heart with love .