Humanity, or the rights of nature, a poem in two books. By the author of sympathy [i.e. S. J. Pratt] |
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| I. |
| II. |
 | Humanity, or the rights of nature, a poem |  |
O pride enormous! impudence of man!
But let not Britons imitate the plan,
Frame no false systems and then call them wise,
Or make distinctions where no difference lies,
Alas! full oft the European face
Masks a mind darker than the darkest race;
The Negro's heart may be a purer shrine,
For thoughts devout O! haughty White, than thine,
Acceptance find more gracious from its God,
Than the proud master who uplifts the rod,
His prayer to holy Kanno more prevail
To the great Spirit whispering in the gale,
His pious vows to Quoja 'midst the trees
On high Bassefo walking in the breeze,
These may more virtue and more truth impart,
Than Christian incense from a savage heart,
And his wild Tambour beat to idol shouts,
To heav'n ascend before the organ's notes;
Say, what the pomps of science or of prayer,
If the poor Indian's fervor glows not there?
In different forms tho' men the God adore,
Shap'd as the brute or painted as the flow'r,
As marble here, and there as feathers seen,
There the birds bone, and here the fishes fin,
Each, as it marks sincerity shall rise,
And welcome find in the recording skies,
Shall more be cherish'd by the powers of Heav'n
Than less true worship where more aids are giv'n,
Than the mock homage of th'enlighten'd train,
For whom a Saviour liv'd and died in vain.
But let not Britons imitate the plan,
Frame no false systems and then call them wise,
Or make distinctions where no difference lies,
Alas! full oft the European face
Masks a mind darker than the darkest race;
The Negro's heart may be a purer shrine,
For thoughts devout O! haughty White, than thine,
Acceptance find more gracious from its God,
Than the proud master who uplifts the rod,
His prayer to holy Kanno more prevail
To the great Spirit whispering in the gale,
His pious vows to Quoja 'midst the trees
On high Bassefo walking in the breeze,
70
Than Christian incense from a savage heart,
And his wild Tambour beat to idol shouts,
To heav'n ascend before the organ's notes;
Say, what the pomps of science or of prayer,
If the poor Indian's fervor glows not there?
In different forms tho' men the God adore,
Shap'd as the brute or painted as the flow'r,
As marble here, and there as feathers seen,
There the birds bone, and here the fishes fin,
Each, as it marks sincerity shall rise,
And welcome find in the recording skies,
Shall more be cherish'd by the powers of Heav'n
Than less true worship where more aids are giv'n,
Than the mock homage of th'enlighten'd train,
For whom a Saviour liv'd and died in vain.
| Humanity, or the rights of nature, a poem | |