WRONG OF SLAVERY.

My ear is pained, My soul is sick, with every day’s report Of wrong and outrage, with which earth is filled. There is no flesh in man’s obdurate heart; It does not feel for man; the natural bond Of brotherhood is severed as the flax That falls asunder at the touch of fire. He finds his fellow guilty of a skin Not colored like his own; and having power To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause, Dooms and devotes him as a lawful prey. I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold, have ever earned. No; dear as freedom is, and in my heart’s Just estimation prized above all price, I had much rather be myself the slave, And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. Cowper’s Task.