I.
Man's inhumanity to Man!
Oh hideous tale to tell,-
What cheek unblanch'd can calmly scan
Those characters of hell?
What pen, what poet, dares to paint
The terrors of that strife,
Wherein so many a martyr'd saint
Has moan'd away his life?

II.
O Roman friars,- Spanish priests,
Ye wretched cruel men,
More bloody than infuriate beasts
Half-famish'd in their den,-
How dreadful are the human woes
Your secret vaults have seen,-
God's patient vengeance only knows
What horrors there have been!

III.
And, Slavery! human nature's shame,
The curse of human-kind,
How hateful is thy very name,
To ear, and heart, and mind!
The sugar-mill, the cotton-field,
The lash, the goad, the chain,-
Alas! how huge a crop they yield
Of wickedness and pain!

IV.
And, here at home, let childhood's shriek,
On coalpit echoes borne,-
And starving woman's hollow cheek
In city streets forlorn,-
And mean oppression's heavy hand
On patient merit's head,-
Ask everywhere throughout the land,
-Whither has Mercy fled?

Yet is there comfort: God above
Long-suffering doth not sleep;
He treasures up with tenderest love
The tears of those who weep;
Holy, and Merciful, and Strong,
Be sure, His glorious Might
For all oppression, pain, and wrong
Will righteously requite!

VI.
And there is comfort: victim soul,
Go straight before that Judge;
With pitying care to hear the whole
His patience will not grudge;
So, out of harm, and hate, and pain,
If thou but kiss the rod,
Thou shalt attain the golden gain
Of Brotherhood with God!