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The Slave's First Hour Of Freedom And His Last.
THE SLAVE'S FIRST HOUR OF FREEDOM AND HIS LAST .
BY BBOTHEB JOHN SMITH , , ( Member ofthe Bank of England Lodge ) , Author of " The Puritan's Sister , " lye . IN a far isle , g irt by the Indian wave , Stretch'd in his hut , lay an expiring slave : Born to his fate—the whip , and galling chain ,
Long years of toil , indignity , and pain ; Want , and exposure to a burning sun , Had worn his frame—the sands of life were run ; A hundred years his aged eyes had seen : Brown autumn ' s pride , succeed the summer ' s green ; No joy to him the varied seasons
gave—Change as they would , they found him still a slave ; Toiling for gold to feed some master ' s pride , Who squander'd wealth , his negroes' blood supplied . Bow'd down by time , unfit for toil at last , As some tall plantain crush'd beneath the blast , The old man lay—each giant sinew shrunk , Like wither'd ivy round his ruin'd trunk ;
Though helpless , wretched , he yet wish'd to live , — Old as he was , life had one boon to give . Tidings had reach'd him o ' er the distant wave , Britain had granted freedom to each slave ; He pray'd for strength to wait the time whose knell , Slavery ' s doom—and freedom ' s birth should tell .
The dial ' s hand pointed the promised hour , AVhen faintly struggling with death's iron power , " Father , " he cried , " before whose throne on high Is heard the negro ' s prayer , the negro ' s sigh ; Let me but live to draw one freeman ' s breath , To own no master , ere I sink in death ;
And every wrong , each stripe and galling chain Man has inflicted on our race for gain . For that blest boon , by every hope of heaven , Shall from my secret soul be here forgiven I " His prayer was heard—was it his faith ne ' er fail'd ? Or charity , or mercy that prevail'd ? Rude and unletter'd , the poor dying slave Practised the Christian ' s virtue—he forgave .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
The Slave's First Hour Of Freedom And His Last.
THE SLAVE'S FIRST HOUR OF FREEDOM AND HIS LAST .
BY BBOTHEB JOHN SMITH , , ( Member ofthe Bank of England Lodge ) , Author of " The Puritan's Sister , " lye . IN a far isle , g irt by the Indian wave , Stretch'd in his hut , lay an expiring slave : Born to his fate—the whip , and galling chain ,
Long years of toil , indignity , and pain ; Want , and exposure to a burning sun , Had worn his frame—the sands of life were run ; A hundred years his aged eyes had seen : Brown autumn ' s pride , succeed the summer ' s green ; No joy to him the varied seasons
gave—Change as they would , they found him still a slave ; Toiling for gold to feed some master ' s pride , Who squander'd wealth , his negroes' blood supplied . Bow'd down by time , unfit for toil at last , As some tall plantain crush'd beneath the blast , The old man lay—each giant sinew shrunk , Like wither'd ivy round his ruin'd trunk ;
Though helpless , wretched , he yet wish'd to live , — Old as he was , life had one boon to give . Tidings had reach'd him o ' er the distant wave , Britain had granted freedom to each slave ; He pray'd for strength to wait the time whose knell , Slavery ' s doom—and freedom ' s birth should tell .
The dial ' s hand pointed the promised hour , AVhen faintly struggling with death's iron power , " Father , " he cried , " before whose throne on high Is heard the negro ' s prayer , the negro ' s sigh ; Let me but live to draw one freeman ' s breath , To own no master , ere I sink in death ;
And every wrong , each stripe and galling chain Man has inflicted on our race for gain . For that blest boon , by every hope of heaven , Shall from my secret soul be here forgiven I " His prayer was heard—was it his faith ne ' er fail'd ? Or charity , or mercy that prevail'd ? Rude and unletter'd , the poor dying slave Practised the Christian ' s virtue—he forgave .