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Help! O Help!


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G. W. C.

Help! O help! thou God of Christians!
Save a mother from despair;
Cruel white men steal my children,
God of Christians! hear my prayer.

From my arms by force they're rended,
Sailors drag them to the sea
Yonder ship at anchor riding,
Swift will carry them away.

There my son lies pale and bleeding;
Fast with cords his hands are bound;
See the tyrants, how they scourge him;
See his sides a reeking wound.

See his little sister by him,
Quaking, trembling, how she lies!
Drops of blood her face besprinkle
Tears of anguish fill her eyes.

Hear the little daughter begging
Take me, white men, for your own;
Spare! O spare my darling brother!
He's my mother's only son.

Christians, who's the God you worship?
Is he cruel, fierce, or good?
Does he take delight in mercy,
Or in spilling human blood?

"Ah! My poor distracted mother!
Hear her scream upon the shore!"
Down the savage captain struck her
Lifeless on the vessel's floor.

Up his sails he quickly hoisted,
To the ocean bent his way;
Headlong plunged the raving mother
From a rock into the sea.