Will none befriend that poor dumb brute,
Will no man rescue him?--
With weaker effort, gasping mute,
He strains in every limb;

Spare him, O spare :-- he feels,-- he feels!
Big tears roll from his eyes;
Another crushing blow! -- he reels,
Staggers,-- and falls,-- and dies.

Poor jaded horse, my blood runs cold
Thy guiltless wrongs to see;
To heav'n, O starv'd one, lame and old,
Thy dim eye pleads for thee.

Thou too, O dog, whose faithful zeal
Fawns on some ruffian grim,--
He stripes thy skin with many a weal,
And yet,-- thou lovest him.

Shame! that of all the living chain
That links Creation's plan,
There is but one delights in pain,
The savage monarch,-- man!

O cruelty -- who could rehearse
Thy million dismal deeds,
Or track the workings of the curse
By which all nature bleeds?

Thou meanest crime,-- thou coward sin,--
Thou base, flint-hearted vice,--
Scorpion! -- to sing thy heart within
Thyself shall all suffice;

The merciless is doubly curst,
As mercy is 'twice blest;'
Vengeance, though slow, shall come,-- but first
The vengeance of the breast!

Why add another woe to life,
Man,-- are there not enough?
Why lay
thy
weapon to the strife?
Why make the road more rough?

Faint, hunger-sick, old, blind, and ill,
The poor, or man or beast,
Can battle on with life uphill,
And bear its griefs at least;

Truly, their cup of gall o'erflows!
But, when the spite of men
Adds poison to the draught of woes,
Who, who can drink it then?

Heard ye that shriek?-- O wretch, forbear,
Fling down thy bloody knife:
In fear, if not in pity, spare
A woman, and a wife!

For thee she toils, unchiding, mild,
And for thy children wan,
Beaten and starved, with famine wild,
To feast thee, monster man:

Husband and father,-- drunkard, fiend!
Thy wife's, thy children's moan
Has won for innocence a Friend,
Has reach'd thy Judge's throne;

Their lives thou madst sad; but worse
Thy deathless doom shall be,
'No Mercy' is the withering curse
Thy Judge hath passed on thee:

Heap on,-- heap on, fresh torments add,--
New schemes of torture plan,
No Mercy! Mercy's self is glad
To damn the cruel man.

God! God! Thy whole creation groans,
Thy fair world writhes in pain;
Shall the dread incense of its moans
Arise to Thee in vain?

The hollow eye of famine pleads,
The face with weeping pale,
The heart that all in secret bleeds,
The grief that tells no tale,

Oppression's victim, weak and wild,
Scarce shrinking from the blow,
And the poor wearied factory child,
Join in the dirge of woe.

O cruel world! O sickening fear
Of goad, or knife, or thong;
O load of evils ill to bear!
--How long, good God, how long?