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The Past, Present, and Future

In Prose and Poetry.
Clark, Benjamin Cutler

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POETRY.
 I. 
I. ETHIOPIA.
 II. 
II. AN ACROSTIC.
 III. 
III. SING UNTO GOD.
 IV. 
IV. IN MEMORIAM, On the late Right Reverend Richard Allen, first Bishop of the A. M. E. Church.
 V. 
V. HYMN.
 VI. 
VI. HAMAN.
 VII. 
VII. LABOR.
 VIII. 
VIII. WINDS.
 IX. 
IX. THE EMIGRANT.
 X. 
X. FRIENDSHIP.
 XI. 
XI. ON SEEING A SNOW-BIRD.
 XII. 
XII. AN ACROSTIC.
 XIII. 
XIII. TO SPRING.
 XIV. 
XIV. THE SLAVE-CATCHER.
 XV. 
XV. LINES Inscribed to Benjamin Lundy, Esq.
 XVI. 
XVI. THE SLAVE-HOLDER'S APOLOGY.
 XVII. 
XVII. WHAT IS TRUTH?
 XVIII. 
XVIII. PRAYER.
 XIX. 
XIX. ON THE FUGITIVE LAW.
 XX. 
XX. ACROSTIC.
 XXI. 
XXI. THE SEMINOLÉ.
 XXII. 
XXII. TO MY MOTHER—LETTY WALLACE.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. THE TWO FUGITIVES.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. PARAPHRASE, Luke XXIV.
 XXV. 
XXV. ON JEALOUSY.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. I'VE SEEN.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. NO ENEMIES.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII. WHAT IS A SLAVE?
 XXIX. 
XXIX. ON PREJUDICE.
 XXX. 
XXX. ON BUBBLES.
 XXXI. 
XXXI. BRING FLOWERS.
 XXXII. 
XXXII. THE CAPTIVE.
 XXXIII. 
XXXIII. LINES On hearing of the Burning of the Steamer “Lexington.”
 XXXIV. 
XXXIV. LIFE'S STRUGGLE.
 XXXV. 
XXXV. THE TREE.
 XXXVI. 
XXXVI. ON DEATH.
 XXXVII. 
XXXVII. THE SLAVE'S LAMENT.
 XXXVIII. 
XXXVIII. ACROSTIC.
 XXXIX. 
XXXIX. HYMN, On the Celebration of the Freedom of the West Indies.
 XL. 
XL. AUTUMN.
 XLI. 
XLI. ODE TO DEITY.
 XLII. 
XLII. GOD SPEED.
 XLIII. 
XLIII. ODE.
 XLIV. 
XLIV. THE REAPER.
 XLV. 
XLV. ODE.
 XLVI. 
XLVI. FORGET THEE.
 XLVII. 
XLVII. TO WRITE.
 XLVIII. 
XLVIII. LINES On the Death of a Child, J. W., aged 11 years.
 XLIX. 
XLIX. WHO HATH COURAGE?
 L. 
L. YEARS.
 LI. 
LI. CHEER UP.
 LII. 
LII. THE PAUPER'S GRAVE.
 LIII. 
LIII. THE CRISIS.
 LIV. 
LIV. AN ACROSTIC.
 LV. 
LV. REQUIESCAT IN PACE.
 LVI. 
LVI. PILGRIM.
 LVII. 
LVII. NO ENERGY.
 LVIII. 
LVIII. ACROSTIC, A. C. C.
 LIX. 
LIX. AN EPITAPH ON MY DOG TURK.
 LX. 
LX. DO THEY MISS ME?
 LXI. 
LXI. GOSSIP!
 LXII. 
LXII. LOVE.
 LXIII. 
LXIII. ON THE TIMES.
 LXIV. 
LXIV. MEET IN HEAVEN.
 LXV. 
LXV. BE JOYFUL!

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116

XXXVII. THE SLAVE'S LAMENT.

Can it be so? Has God intended
Me to be another's slave?
To toil in anguish, undefended,
From the cradle to the grave;
Yes, and bow my head in sorrow,
Lest I live to see the morrow?
If so, why am I not contented
To endure this hateful chain?
Why have I constantly invented
Schemes my liberty to gain;
And with firm, heroic brav'ry,
Ventur'd my life to flee from slav'ry?
117

No! God, in truth, condemns a system
That is wretched, vile, and base;
And e'en all nature bids the victim
Of it “fly from its embrace!”
Now, I bid adieu to slav'ry—
Its woes, its wrongs, its cunning knav'ry.
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