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 |  |
Lo, as the Muse to Anticosta steers,
Mid'st the wild waves HUMANITY appears!
Escap'd the wreck, although their barks were lost,
Whole crews were dash'd upon a savage coast;
The coast, tho' savage, there the Christians find,
Each God-like feeling in an Indian mind,
For touch'd by cries that pierc'd the piny wood,
The natives sought the margin of the flood,
Then as th'expiring Christians caught their view,
To human grief the generous Indians flew,
The social passion glowing in his face,
Thus spoke a Chieftain of the sable race:
“Haste children haste, behold where brothers lie,—
“Rise strangers rise, the hand of help is nigh:
“Men like ourselves throughout the globe command,
“The shelt'ring bosom and the aiding hand,
“All, all are kinsmen of a different hue,
“Our faces vary, but our hearts are true;
“Ye poor white wanderers on our bounty thrown,
“Your griefs are sacred and your wants our own.”
This said, he gently to his Cottage led,
Smil'd on his guests and yielded up his bed;
Then watch'd till morn, a guardian at the door
Bless'd and was blessed—could a Christian more?
Mid'st the wild waves HUMANITY appears!
Escap'd the wreck, although their barks were lost,
Whole crews were dash'd upon a savage coast;
The coast, tho' savage, there the Christians find,
Each God-like feeling in an Indian mind,
For touch'd by cries that pierc'd the piny wood,
The natives sought the margin of the flood,
Then as th'expiring Christians caught their view,
To human grief the generous Indians flew,
The social passion glowing in his face,
Thus spoke a Chieftain of the sable race:
72
“Rise strangers rise, the hand of help is nigh:
“Men like ourselves throughout the globe command,
“The shelt'ring bosom and the aiding hand,
“All, all are kinsmen of a different hue,
“Our faces vary, but our hearts are true;
“Ye poor white wanderers on our bounty thrown,
“Your griefs are sacred and your wants our own.”
This said, he gently to his Cottage led,
Smil'd on his guests and yielded up his bed;
Then watch'd till morn, a guardian at the door
Bless'd and was blessed—could a Christian more?
| Humanity, or the rights of nature, a poem | |