Classic Poem

O righteous God! whose awful frown
Can crumble nations to the dust,
Trembling we stand before thy throne,
When we reflect that, THOU ART JUST .

Dost thou not see the dreadful wrong,
Which Afric's injur'd race sustains?
And wilt thou not arise ere long,
To plead their cause, and break their chains?

Must not thine anger quickly rise
Against the men whom lust controls,
Who dare thy righteous laws despise,
And traffic in the blood of souls?

Will not thy judgments, like a flood,
This long-polluted land o'erflow—
Drench'd with our fellow-creatures' blood—
Fill'd with the scenes of Afric's woe?

The sin of slavery we forsake,
Lest we thy judgments here should view;
Lest o'er our heads thy thunders break,—
Far worse than ancient Egypt knew.