Hymn for the Slave

Dublin Core


Hymn for the Slave


There is a peaceful home above,

Where all who bear below

The cross of Christ, is faith and love,

As equal heirs may go.

There is a fount, whose waters gush

With life beyond the grave,

Whereof the master will not blush

To drink beside the slave.

The Tree that from that Holy Land

Immortal bloom recieves,

Is planted where the Ethiop's hand

May reach its balmy leaves

When Death unlocks the bondman's chain,

And sets his spirit free,

No hunter on his flight shall gain,

To that all-healing tree!

The hue that marked his mortal vest—

The yoke—the stripes he bore—

In that pure world of light and rest,

Can wring his soul no more!

But, while his grateful song shall flow

To his Redeemer there,

What part is he who wrought his woe—

His earthly lord—to bear?

There is a Law, all-wise, supreme,

With God's eternal seal;

And self-deceivers vainly dream

From this to find appeal

No powers that pure, supernal Law,

Can weaken or annul:

Nor Conscience thence an opiate draw,

The sense of guilt to lull.

There is an Advocate, who stands

Unwavering and un-feed,

For those who gyvved, but guiltless hands,

That higher Law to plead.

Whoe'er his neighbor robs of rights

Which God with being gave,

Against Omnipotence he fights—

Himself to sin a slave!

Whose ou hand and bosom wears

Fine gold and sparkling gem,

That sprang from drops of sweat and tears,

Where bondmen planted them,

Then boasts of Freedom! rights of birth!

And grasps his trembling slave—

His mockery taints the air—the earth—

It scents beyond the grave.

And he who wears the Christian name,

To mask an earthly heart;

And puts the cause of Christ to shame,

To prop a human mart,—

The holy flame how shall he face

From God's all-scarching eye,

That may the Mene, Tekel! trace,

Which he may not defy!

For there's a throne—a holy throne,

Where Justice holds the scale,

Whilst ever soul's concerns are shown,

And many a hope must fail.

The Judge, whose eye unerring sees

Each deed and thought, is He

Who saith, 'What did ye unto these,

Ye did it unto me!"

Newburyport, Mass.


Hannah F. Gould


1:15, p. 4




Hannah F. Gould, “Hymn for the Slave,” Periodical Poets, accessed April 14, 2024, https://periodicalpoets.com/items/show/741.


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