Prayer for the Slave.

XI.

WESLEY.

O LET the prisoners' mournful sighs,
As incense in thy sight appear!
Their humble wailings pierce the skies,
If haply they may feel thee near.

The captive exiles make their moans,
From sin impatient to be free:
Call home, call home thy banished ones!
Lead captive their captivity!

Out of the deep regard their cries,

The fallen raise, the mourners cheer;

O Son of Righteousness arise,

And scatter all their doubt and fear!

Stand by them in the fiery hour,

Their feebleness of mind defend; And in their weakness show thy power, And make them patient to the end.

Relieve the souls whose cross we bear,

For whom thy suffering members mourn:

Answer our faith's effectual prayer;

And break the yoke so meekly borne !

The search for Truth.

XII:

S. G. BULFINCH.

OH, darkly on the path of life
The pilgrim holds his course in strife;
His wandering vision strives in vain

The distant prospect to attain ;
And Prejudice will rise between,

And Doubt's dark clouds enfold the scene.

Father of lights! to thee we pray

To chase those clouds of doubt away,
Bid lingering Prejudice depart

That long has shadowed o'er the heart,
And cause thy Truth with ray divine,
Upon thy servants' path to shine.

Thus when thy sun in glory springs,
With morning on his golden wings,
The shades retire, the mists of night
Recede, and nature smiles in light,
And hill and vale, and earth, and sea,

Breathe forth their matin song to thee.

Prejudice against color is the stone covering the well of the waters of life; and never can they be given freely to the nations until it be removed.-George Thompson.

Patriotism and Sympathy.

XIII.

E. M. CHANDLER.

THINK of our country's glory,
All dimm'd with Afric's tears-
Her broad flag stained and gory,
With the hoarded guilt of years.

Think of the frantic mother,
Lamenting for her child,
Till falling lashes smother
Her cries of anguish wild!

Think of the prayers ascending,
Yet shrieked, alas! in vain,
When heart from heart is rending,
Ne'er to be joined again!

Shall we behold unheeding,

Life's holiest feelings crush'd? When woman's heart is bleeding, Shall woman's voice be hush'd?

Oh, no! by every blessing,

That heaven to thee may lendRemember their oppression, Forget not, sister, friend.

Patriotism and Sympathy.

XIV.

It is the wrongs of Afric's sons

We feel,—and would our aid extend

Unto the injured suffering ones,
Who loudly call us to befriend,

Patriotism and Sympathy.

E. BAILEY.

Ye Christians kings and potentates
Whose sacrilegious leagues have twined
Oppression's links around your states,

Say-do ye idly hope to bind

The fearless heart and thinking mind?
When ye can hush the tempest of the deep,
Make the volcano in its cavern sleep,

Or stop the hymning spheres, ye may control,
With sceptered hand, the mighty march of soul.

But what are ye? and whence your power
Above the prostrate world to tower,

And lord it all alone?

What god-what fiend has e'er decreed,
That one shall reign, while millions bleed
To prop the tyrant's throne ?
Gaze on the ocean, ye would sway :-
If from its tranquil breast, the day
Shine out in beams as bright and fair
As if the heavens were resting there,
Ye, in its mirror surface, may

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Patriotism and Sympathy.

When their deep groans ascend on high
In piercing heart-wrung agony.

See that ye are but men ;

But should the angry storm-wind pour
Its chainless surges to the shore,

Like Canute, ye may then

A fearful lesson learn, ye ne'er would know,
The weakness of a tyrant's power-how low

His pride is brought, when like that troubled sea,
Men rise in chainless might, determined to be free.

And they will rise, who lowly kneel,
Crushed by oppression's iron heel.

They yet will rise-in such a change as sweeps
The face of nature, when the lightning leaps
From the dark clouds of night,

While Heaven's eternal pillars reel afar,
As o'er them rolls the thunderer's flaming car;
And in the majesty and might

That freedom gives, my country, follow thee
In thy career of strength and glorious liberty.
As fade the rainbow hues of day,

Earth's gorgeous pageants pass away;
Its temples, arches, monuments, must fall;
For time's oblivious hand is on them all.

The proudest kings will end their toil,
To slumber with the humble dead-

Earth's conquerors mingle with the soil,
That groaned beneath their iron tread,
And all the trophies of their power and guilt,
Sink to oblivion with the blood they spilt.

But still the everlasting voice of Fame
Shall swell in anthems to the Patriot's name,