176

Our Country is the World.

In one vast symphony of praise,
Let every race and clime unite ;
And infidelity, ashamed,

Sink in the abyss of endless night.

Afric's emancipated sons

Shall shout to Asia's rapturous throng; Europe resound her Saviour's fame,

And western climes the note prolong.

From east to west, from north to south,
The Saviour's kingdom must extend;

And every man, in every face,

Shall meet a brother and a friend.

And let that work of England's hand,
Sent through the blast and surge's roar,
So girt with tranquil glory, stand
For ages on thy shore!

Such through all time the greetings be,
That with the Atlantic billow sweep!
Telling the Mighty and the Free

Of Brothers o'er the Deep!

The Christian Life.

XOVIII.

CHRIST had his sorrows; when he shed
His tears, O Palestine, for thee!
When all but weeping females fled,
In his dark hour of agony.

Christ had his sorrows; so must thou,
If thou wilt tread the path he trod;
Oh, then, like him submissive bow,
And love the sovereignty of God.

Christ had his joys; but they were not The joys the son of pleasure boasts; Oh, no! 'twas when his spirit sought

Thy will, thy glory, God of Hosts. Christ had his joys; and so hath he

Who feels his spirit in his heartWho yields, O God, his will to thee, And loves thy name for what thou art.

Christ had his foes; the prince of hell, And all his angels sought his death! See! human hearts with malice swell,

And murder feign affection's breath!

178 Prayer for the removal of Prejudice.

Christ had his foes; and so, if thou

Shalt with him walk and near him live,
The cruel world will hate thee now,
And thou shalt suffer-and forgive!

Christ had his friends; his eye could trace, Through the long train of coming years, The chosen children of his grace,

The full reward of all his tears.

Christ had his friends-and his are thine,
If thou to him hast bowed the knee-
And where those ransomed millions shine
Shall thy eternal mansion be.

Prayer for the removal of Prejudice.

XCIX.

Oh hear the wailing cry;
The wretched slave complains,

His brother's hand deep wrong inflicts,

And binds in galling chains.

With scoffs that brother sees
Those chains his body bind,
And draws the more debasing cords
Around the immortal mind.

Prayer for the removal of Prejudice. 179

Oh, melt those flinty hearts,

Strong prejudice remove,

And teach thy paler children, Lord,
Thy sable sons to love.

The Dunting of Men.

JOHN G. WHITTIER.

Have ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest,—the hunting of men ?
The lords of our land to this hunting have gone,
As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn:
Hark-the cheer and the hallo!-the crack of the whip,
And the yell of the hound as he fastens his grip!
All blithe are our hunters, and noble their match-
Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch:
So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest—the hunting of men!

Gay luck to our hunters!—how nobly they ride

In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride!
The Priest with his cassock flung back on the wind,

Just screening the politic Statesman behind-
The saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayer-
The drunk and the sober, ride inerrily there.
And woman-kind woman-wife, widow, and maid-
For the good of the hunted—is lending her aid:
Her foot 's in the stirrup-her hand on the rein-
How blithely she rides to the hunting of men!

180 Prayer for the removal of Prejudice.

Hast thou not promised long?
We fain the day would see,
When Ethiopia's trampled sons
Shall stretch the hand to thee.

Oh goodly and grand is our hunting to see,

In this land of the brave and this home of the free.'
Priest, warrior, and statesman, from Georgia to Maine,
All mounting the saddle-all grasping the rein-
Right merrily hunting the black man, whose sin
Is the curl of his hair and the hue of his skin!—

Wo, now to the hunted who turns him at bay !-
Will our hunters be turned from their purpose and prey ?—
Will their hearts fail within them ?-their nerves tremble, when
All roughly they ride to the hunting of men?

Ho-ALMS for our hunters !—all weary and faint

Wax the curse of the sinner and prayer of the saint !

The horn is wound faintly—the echoes are still

Over cane-brake and river, and forest and hill.
Haste-alms for our hunters!-the hunted once more
Have turned from their flight with their backs to the shore :
What right have they here in the home of the white,
Shadowed o'er by our banner of Freedom and Right?
Ho-alms for our hunters!-or never again

Will they ride in their pomp to the hunting of men!

ALMS-ALMS for our hunters!—why will ye delay,
When their pride and their glory are melting away ?
The parson has turned; for, on charge of his own,
Who goeth a warfare, or hunting alone?