The Poor Little Slave.

83

From "The Charter Oak."

O pity the poor little slave,
Who labors hard through all the day —
And has no one,
When day is done,
To teach his youthful heart to pray.

No words of love — no fond embrace —
No smiles from parents kind and dear;
No tears are shed
Around his bed,
When fevers rage, and death is near.

None feel for him when heavy chains
Are fastened to his tender limb;
No pitying eyes,
No sympathies,
No prayers are raised to heaven for him.

Yes I will pity the poor slave,
And pray that he may soon be free
That he at last,
When days are past,
In heaven may have his liberty.