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The hand that gave it ftill fupplies

The gracious light and heat;
His truths upon the nations rife,
They rife but never fet.

Let everlasting thanks be thine,
For fuch a bright display,

As makes a world of darkness shine
With beams of heav'nly day.

My foul rejoices to pursue
The steps of Him I love;
Till glory breaks upon my view
In brighter worlds above.

THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.

FORC'D from home, and all its pleasures
Afric's coaft I left forlorn;
To increase a stranger's treasures,

O'er the raging billows borne.

Men from England bought and fold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;

But, though theirs they have enroll'd me,
Minds are never to be fold.

Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England's rights, I ask,
Me from my delights to fever,
Me to torture, me to task?
Fleecy locks, and black complexion
Cannot forfeit nature's claim;
Skins may differ, but affection

Dwells in white and black the fame.

Why did all-creating Nature

Make the plant for which we toil? Sighs must fan it, tears must water, Sweat of ours must drefs the foil Think, ye masters, iron-hearted, Lolling at your jovial boards;

Think how many backs have fmarted

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Is there, as ye fometimes tell us,
Is there One who reigns on high?
Has he bid you buy and fell us,
Speaking from his throne the sky?
Afk him, if your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood-extorting screws,
Are the means which duty urges
Agents of his will to use?

Hark! he anfwers-Wild tornadoes,
Strewing yonder fea with wrecks ;
Wafting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which he speaks.
He, foreseeing what vexations
Afric's fons fhould undergo,
Fix'd their tyrant's habitations
Where his whirlwinds anfwer-No.

By our blood in Afric wasted,

Ere our necks receiv'd the chain;
By the mis❜ries we have tasted,
Croffing in your barks the main;
By our fuff'rings fince ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart;
All fuftain'd by patience, taught us
Only by a broken heart:

Deem our nation brutes no longer
Till fome reason ye fhall find
Worthier of regard, and stronger

Than the colour of our kind.
Slaves of gold, whofe fordid dealings
Tarnish all your boasted pow'rs,
Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere you proudly question ours!

PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS.

Video meliora proboque

Deteriora fequor—

I own I am shock'd at the purchase of flaves,
And fear those who buy them and fell them are knaves;
What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and

groans,

Is almoft enough to draw pity from ftones.

I pity them greatly, but I must be mum,
For how could we do without fugar and rum?
Efpecially fugar, fo needful we fee?

What, give up our deferts, our coffee, and tea!

Befides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes,
Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains;
If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will,
And tortures and groans will be multiplied still.

If foreigners likewife would give up the trade,
Much more in behalf of your wifh might be faid;
But, while they get riches by purchafing blacks,
Pray tell me why we may not alfo go
fnacks?

Your fcruples and arguments bring to my mind
A ftory fo pát, you may think it is coin'd,
On purpose to answer you, out of my mint
But, I can affure you, I faw it in print.

t;

A youngfter at fchool, more fedate than the reft,
Had once his integrity put to the test;

His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And ask'd him to go and affist in the job.

He was shock'd, fir, like you, and answer'd-"Oh no! What! rob our good neighbour! I pray you, don't go Besides the man's poor, his orchard's his bread, Then think of his children, for they must be fed."

،، You fpeak very fine, and you look very grave,
But apples we want, and apples we'll have;
If you will go with us, you fhall have a share.
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear."

They spoke, and Tom ponder'd-" I fee they will go;
Poor man! what a pity to injure him fo!

Poor man! I
would fave him his fruit if I cou'd
But staying behind will do him no good.

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