Cannibalistic vulture,
Grown fat upon your brother's blood,
The Tide you do not seek to stem
Engulfs you in its flood.

The cords you bind about his hands,
Hold your hands doubly fast;
And when you rend his anchor chain,
Your bark adrift you cast.

The day you snuff his light of hope,
And dim ambition's guiding spark,
You doom yourself to ever grope
In tractless waste of endless dark.

O! blasphemer of sacred trust,
Go hide your dirty, double face!
Far better were you dead at birth
Than live to sacrifice your Race.

Vile cringing cur, unfit to hang,
Live long to writhe in pain
Beneath on-marching feet of those
Who fall—to rise again.