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Feed fat, ye locusts, feed!
And, in your tasseled pulpits, thank the Lord
That, from the toiling bondman's utter need,

Ye pile your own full board.

How long, O Lord! how long
Shall such a priesthood barter truth away,
And, in Thy name, for robbery and wrong

At Thy own altars pray?

Is not Thy hand stretched forth Visibly in the heavens, to awe and smite? Shall not the living God of all the earth,

And heaven above, do right?

Woe, then, to all who grind
Their brethren of a common Father down!
To all who plunder from the immortal mind

Its bright and glorious crown!

Woe to the priesthood! woe
To those whose hire is with the price of blood —
Perverting, darkening, changing as they go,

The searching truths of God!

Their glory and their might
Shall perish; and their very names shall be
Vile before all the people, in the light

Of a world's liberty.

Oh! speed the moment on When Wrong shall cease — and Liberty, and Love, And Truth, and Right, throughout the earth be known

As in their home above.


[In a late publication of L. F. Tasistro, "Random Shots and Southern Breezes," is a description of a slave auction at New Orleans, at which the auctioneer recommended the woman on the stand as "A Good Christian !"]

A Christian ! going, gone!
Who bids for God's own image ? — for His grace
Which that poor victim of the market-place

Uath in her suffering won?

My God! can such things be?
Hast thou not said that whatsoe'er is done
Unto Thy weakest and Thy humblest one,

Is even done to Thee?

In that sad victim, then,
Child of Thy pitying love, I see Thee stand —
Once more the jest-word of a mocking band,

Bound, sold, and scourged again!

A Christian up for sale!
Wet with her blood your whips — o'ertask her frame,
Make her life loathsome with your wrong and shame,

Her patience shall not fail!

A heathen hand might deal
Back on your heads the gathered wrong of years,
But her low, broken prayer and nightly tears,

Ye neither heed nor feeL

Con well thy lesson o'er,
Thou prudent teacher — tell the toiling slave
No dangerous tale of Him who came to save

The outcast and the poor.

But wisely shut the ray
Of God's free Gospel from her simple heart,
And to her darkened mind alone impart

One stern command — " Obet !" •

So shalt thou deftly raise
The market price of human flesh ; and while
On thee, their pampered guest, the planters smile,

Thy church shall praise.

Grave, reverend men shall tell
From Northern pulpits how thy work was blest,
While in that vile South Sodom, first and best,

Thy poor disciples sell.

Oh, shame ! the Moslem thrall,
Who, with his master, to the Prophet kneels,
While turning to the sacred Kebla feels

His fetters break and fall.

Cheers for the turbaned Bey
Of robber-peopled Tunis ! he hath torn
The dark slave-dungeons open, and hath borne

Their inmates into day:

But our poor slave in vain
Turns to the Christian shrine his aching eyes —
Its rites will only swell his market price,

And rivet on his chain.f

•There is in Liberty county, Georgia, an Association for the religions instruction of Negroes. Their seTenth annual report contains an address by the Rev. Josiah Spry Law, from which we extract the following: — "There is a growing interest, in this community, in the religious instruction of Negroes. There is a conviction that religious instruction promotes the quiet and order of the people, and the pecuniary interest of the owners."

t We often see advertisements in the Southern papers, in which individual

God of all right! how long
Shall priestly robbers at Thine altar stand,
Lifting in prayer to Thee, the bloody hand

And haughty brow of wrong?

Oh, from the fields of cane,
From the low rice-swamp, from the trader's cell —
From the black slave-ship's foul and loathsome hell,

And coffle's weary chain,—

Hoarse, horrible, and strong,
Rises to Heaven that agonizing cry,
Filling the arches of the hollow sky,

How Long, On God, How Long?

slaves, or several of a lot, are recommended as "pious" or as "members of churches" Lately we saw a slave advertised, who, among other qualifications, was described as "a Baptist preacher."


Is this the land our fathers loved,

The freedom which they toiled to win?

Is this the soil whereon they moved?
Are these the graves they slumber in?

Are we the sons by whom are borne

The mantles which the dead have worn?

And shall we crouch above these graves,
With craven soul and fettered lip?

Yoke in with marked and branded slaves,
And tremble at the driver's whip?

Bend to the earth our pliant knees,

And speak — but as our masters please?

Shall outraged Nature cease to feel?

Shall Mercy's tears no longer flow?
Shall ruffian threats of cord and steel —

The dungeon's gloom — the assassin's blow,
Turn back the spirit roused to save
The Truth, our Country, and the Slave?

Of human skulls that shrine was made,
Round which the priests of Mexico

Before their loathsome idol prayed —
Is Freedom's altar fashioned so?

* The "Times" alluded to, were those evil times of the pro-slavery meeting in Faneuil Hall, for the suppression of freedom of speech, lest it should endanger the foundations of commercial society. In view of the oatrages which a careful observation of the times had enabled him to foresee must spring from the false witness horno against the abolitionists by the speakers at that meetings well might Garrison say of them, "I consider the man who fires a city, guiltless in comparison."

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