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النشر الإلكتروني

191

Has God then giv'n it's sweetness to the cane,
Unless his laws be trampled on-in vain?
Built a brave World, which cannot yet subsist,
Unless his right to rule it be dismiss'd?
Impudent blasphemy! So Folly pleads,
And, Av'rice being judge, with ease succeeds.
But grant the plea, and let it stand for just,
That man make man his prey, because he must ;
Still there is room for pity to abate,

And sooth the sorrows of so sad a state.

A Briton knows, or if he knows it not,

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The Scripture plac'd within his reach, he ought,

That souls have no discriminating hue,

Alike important in their Maker's view;

That none are free from blemish since the fall,

And Love divine has paid one price for all.
The wretch, that works and weeps without relief,

Has one that notices his silent grief.

He, from whose hands alone all pow'r proceeds,

Ranks it's abuse among the foulest deeds,

Considers all injustice with a frown;

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But marks the man that treads his fellow down.
Begone, the whip and bell in that hard hand
Are hateful ensigns of usurp'd command.
Not Mexico could purchase kings a claim
To scourge him, weariness his only blame.
Remember, Heav'n has an avenging rod,
To smite the poor is treason against God.
Trouble is grudgingly and hardly brook'd,
While life's sublimest joys are overlook'd:
We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil,
Murm'ring and weary of our daily toil,
Forget t' enjoy the palm tree's offer'd shade,
Or taste the fountain in the neighb'ring glade:
Else who would lose, that had the pow'r t'improve,
Th'occasion of transmuting fear to love?

O'tis a godlike privilege to save,

And he that scorns it is himself a slave.

Inform his mind; one flash of heav'nly day

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Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away.

"Beauty for ashes" is a gift indeed,

And slaves, by truth enlarg'd, are doubly freed.

Then would he say, submissive at thy feet,
While gratitude and love made service sweet,
My dear deliv'rer out of hopeless night,

Whose bounty bought me but to give me light,
I was a bondman on my native plain,

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Sin forg'd, and Ignorance made fast, the chain;
Thy lips have shed instruction as the dew,
Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue;
Farewell my former joys! I sigh no more

For Africa's once lov'd, benighted shore;
Serving a benefactor I am free,

At my best home, if not exil'd from thee.

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Some men make gain a fountain, whence

proceeds

A stream of lib'ral and heroic deeds;

The swell of pity, not to be confin'd

Within the scanty limits of the mind,

Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands,

A rich deposit, on the bord'ring lands;

'T'hese have an ear for his paternal call,

Who makes some rich for the supply of all;
God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ,
And THORNTON is familiar with the joy.

O could I worship aught beneath the skies,
That Earth has seen, or fancy can devise,

Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,
Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,

With fragrant turf, and flow'rs as wild and fair
As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air.
Duly, as ever on the mountain's height

The peep of Morning shed a dawning light,
Again, when Ev'ning in her sober vest

Drew the grey curtain of the fading west,

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My soul should yield thee willing thanks and

praise,

For the chief blessings of my fairest days:

But that were sacrilege-praise is not thine,

But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine:
Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly
A captive bird into the boundless sky,

This triple realm adores thee-thou art come
From Sparta hither, and art here at home.
We feel thy force still active, at this hour
Enjoy immunity from priestly pow'r,

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While Conscience, happier than in ancient years, Owns no superior but the God she fears,

Propitious spirit! yet expunge a wrong

Thy rights have suffer'd, and our land, too long. Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts that share The fears and hopes of a commercial care. Prisons expect the wicked, and were built

To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt;

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But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood,
Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood;
And honest Merit stands on slipp'ry ground,
Where covert guile and artifice abound.
Let just Restraint, for public peace design'd,
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind;
The foe of virtue has no claim to thee,
But let insolvent innocence go free,

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