I may not scorn the meanest thing
That on the earth doth crawl,
The slave who dares not burst his chain,
The tyrant in his hall.

The vile oppressor who hath made
The widow'd mother mourn,
Though worthless, soulless, he may stand —
I cannot, dare not scorn.

The darkest night that shrouds the sky
Of beauty hath a share;
The blackest heart hath signs to tell
That God still lingers there.

I pity all that evil are —
I pity and I mourn;
But the S UPREME hath fashion'd all,
And, oh! I dare not scorn.