the fugitive-slave-bill.
163
O patient souls, that sadly toil
Where bleeding feet before have trod,
The oppressor and the oppressed are here;
I know you choose the weight, the fear,
The stripes above the awful rod!
Where bleeding feet before have trod,
The oppressor and the oppressed are here;
I know you choose the weight, the fear,
The stripes above the awful rod!
We talk of sorrow—talk of death,
Old signs for old things all unmoved.
Who bears about this deadly grief;
An inward bane, with no relief—
He only grief and death has proved.
Old signs for old things all unmoved.
Who bears about this deadly grief;
An inward bane, with no relief—
He only grief and death has proved.
What wonder, if men sometimes doubt
If God be in his heavens or no?
The lightnings open them, but still
And fine; the motions of his will
That keep true balance flit in veins below.
If God be in his heavens or no?
The lightnings open them, but still
And fine; the motions of his will
That keep true balance flit in veins below.
No little thing that seems to live
Its poor, mean life, a creeping clod,
Its poor, mean life, a creeping clod,
