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Are the means which duty urges Agents of his will to use?

Hark ! he answers—wild tornadoes. Strewing yonder sea with wrecks; Wasting towns, plantations, meadows; Are the voice with which he speaks. He, foreseeing what vexations Afric’s sons should undergo, Fixed their tyrants’ habitations Where his whirlwinds answer—no.

By our blood in Afric wasted, Ere our necks received the chain; By the miseries that we tasted, Crossing in your barks the main ; By our sufferings, since ye brought us To the man-degrading mart; All sustained by patience, taught us Only by a broken heart;

Deem our nation brutes no longer. Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard, and stronger Than the colour of our kind. Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings, Ere you proudly question ours!

FINIS.