? ALMS-ALMS for our hunters! why will ye delay, 1835. CLERICAL OPPRESSORS. [IN the Report of the celebrated pro-slavery meeting in Charleston, S. C., on the 4th of the 9th month, 1835, published in the Courier of that city, it is stated, "The CLERGY of all denominations attended in a body, LENDING THEIR SANCTION TO THE PROCEEDINGS, and adding by their presence to the impressive char acter of the scene!"] JUST God!-and these are they Who minister at thine altar, God of Right! What! preach and kidnap men? What! servants of thy own Merciful Son, who came to seek and save Pilate and Herod, friends! Chief priests and rulers, as of old, combine! Paid hypocrites, who turn Judgment aside, and rob the Holy Book Of those high words of truth which search and burn In warning and rebuke; Feed fat, ye locusts, feed! And, in your tasselled pulpits, thank the Lord How long, O Lord! how long Shall such a priesthood barter truth away, Is not thy hand stretched forth Woe, then, to all who grind Their brethren of a common Father down! Woe to the priesthood! woe To those whose hire is with the price of blood- Their glory and their might Shall perish; and their very names shall be Oh! speed the moment on When Wrong shall cease-and Liberty, and Love, And Truth, and Right, throughout the earth be known As in their home above. THE CHRISTIAN SLAVE. [IN a late publication of L. F. TASISTRO," Random Shots and Bouthern Breezes," is a description of a slave auction at New Orleans, at which the auctioneer recommended the woman on the stand as "A GOOD CHRISTIAN!"] A CHRISTIAN! going, gone! Who bids for God's own image ?-for his grace My God! can such things be? Hast Thou not said that whatsoe'er is done In that sad victim, then, A Christian up for sale! Wet with her blood your whips-o'ertask her frame, Make her life loathsome with your wrong and shame, Her patience shall not fail! A heathen hand might deal Back on your heads the gathered wrong of years, Con well thy lesson o'er, Thou prudent teacher-tell the toiling slave But wisely shut the ray Of God's free Gospel from her simple heart, So shalt thou deftly raise The market price of human flesh; and while Grave, reverend men shall tell From Northern pulpits how thy work was blest, Oh, shame! the Moslem thrall, Cheers for the turbaned Bey But our poor slave in vain Turns to the Christian shrine his aching eyes- God of all right! how long Oh, from the fields of cane, From the low rice-swamp, from the trader's cellFrom the black slave-ship's foul and loathsome hell, And coffle's weary chain,— Hoarse, horrible, and strong, Rises to Heaven that agonizing cry, HOW LONG, O GOD, HOW LONG? STANZAS FOR THE TIMES. Is this the land our fathers loved, Are these the graves they slumber in ? And shall we crouch above these graves, Shall outraged Nature cease to feel? Of human skulls that shrine was made, Is Freedom's altar fashioned so Shall tongues be mute, when deeds are wrougnt Which well might shame extremest hell? |