By the wayside lay a poor bleeding stranger,
Lone and forsaken, in anguish and pain,
Sore and oppressed—in imminent danger—
Begging for mercy, but begging in vain.

Many pass'd by him who saw his dejection,
Yet none in their kindness his deep wants relieved:
Both 'Priest and Levite' passed by in succession,
With cold-like indifference to the bereav'd.

Some thought him so poor, so hopelessly mangled,
That to assist him would do him no good;
And each with the other alternately wrangled,
What was best for him—removal or food.

Churchmen, and lawyers, and keen politicians,—
The rich in chariots, rode by in haste;
None seemed dispos'd to shew e'en compassion
To one, in their view, so mean and debased.

At length, one proposed for him colonization,
Who said, 'He ne'er can get well while he's here;
Besides, I detest an amalgamation,
Which will be the case, as seems to appear.'

While this debate was in rapid progression,
Preacher and man-thief were found to agree:
A 'fanatic' cried out, 'This is oppression,—
Heal the poor captive, and then set him free.'