Page:Slavery, a poem.pdf/25

Rh Whether of wealth insatiate, or of pow'r, Conquerors who waste, or ruffians who devour: Had these possess'd, O ! thy gentle mind, Thy love of arts, thy love of humankind; Had these pursued thy mild and liberal plan, had not been a curse to man! Then, bless'd Philanthropy! thy social hands Had link'd dissever'd worlds in brothers bands; Careless, if colour, or if clime divide; Then, lov'd, and loving, man had liv'd, and died. The purest wreaths which hang on glory's shrine, For empires founded, peaceful ! are thine; No blood-stain'd laurels crown'd thy virtuous toil, No slaughter'd natives drench'd thy fair-earn'd soil. Still thy meek spirit in thy flock survives, Consistent still, their doctrines rule their lives;