And yet what grievous wrong is wrought,
Unnoticed and unknown,
Until some noble one stands forth,
And makes that wrong his own!
So stood he forth who first denounced
The slave-trade's cursed gain;
Such call upon the human heart
Was never made in vain.
For generous impulses and strong
Within our nature lie:
Pity, and love, and sympathy
May sleep, but never die.
Thousands, awakened to the sense,
Have never since that time
Ceased to appeal to God and man
Against the work of crime.
The meanest hut that ever stood
Is yet a human home;
Why to a low and humble roof
Should the despoiler come?
Grant they are ignorant and weak,
We were ourselves the same:
If they are children, let them have
A child's imploring claim.
The husband parted from the wife,
The mother from the child—
Thousands within a single year,
From land and home exiled.
For what?—to labour without hope
Beneath a foreign sky;
To gather up unrighteous wealth—
To droop—decline—and die!
Such wrong is darkly visited;
The masters have their part—
For theirs had been the blinded eye,
And theirs the hardened heart.
Evil may never spring unchecked
Within the mortal soul;
If such plague-spot be not removed,
It must corrupt the whole.
