Mother! whene’er around your child
You clasp your arms in love,
And when, with grateful joy, you raise
Your eyes to God above,
Think of the negro mother, when
Her child is torn away,
Sold for a little slave,—O, then
For that poor mother pray!
Father! whene’er your happy boys
You look upon with pride,
And pray to see them when you’re old,
All blooming by your side,
Think of that father’s withered heart,
The father of a slave,
Who asks a pitying God to give
His little son a grave.
Brothers and sisters! who with joy
Meet round the social hearth,
And talk of home and happy days,
And laugh in careless mirth,
Remember, too, the poor young slave,
Who never felt your joy,
Who, early old, has never known
The bliss to be a boy.
Ye Christians! ministers of Him
Who came to make men free,
When, at the Almighty Maker’s throne,
You bend the suppliant knee,
From the deep fountains of your soul
Then let your prayers ascend
For the poor slave, who hardly knows
That God is still his friend.
Let all who know that God is just,
That Jesus came to save,
Unite in the most holy cause
Of the forsaken slave.