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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420663" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Christian Slave</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A CHRISTIAN! going, gone!<br>Who bids for God's own image? for his grace,<br>Which that poor victim of the market-place<br>Hath in her suffering won?<br>My God! can such things be?<br>Hast Thou not said that whatsoe'er is done<br>Unto Thy weakest and Thy humblest one<br>Is even done to Thee?<br>In that sad victim, then,<br>Child of Thy pitying love, I see Thee stand;<br>Once more the jest-word of a mocking band,<br>Bound, sold, and scourged again!<br>A Christian up for sale!<br>Wet with her blood your whips, o'ertask her frame,<br>Make her life loathsome with your wrong and shame, Her patience shall not fail!<br>A heathen hand might deal<br>Back on your heads the gathered wrong of years:<br>But her low, broken prayer and nightly tears,<br>Ye neither heed nor feel.<br>Con well thy lesson o'er,<br>Thou prudent teacher, tell the toiling slave<br>No dangerous tale of Him who came to save<br>The outcast and the poor.<br>But wisely shut the ray<br>Of God's free Gospel from her simple heart,<br>And to her darkened mind alone impart<br>One stern command, Obey!3<br>So shalt thou deftly raise<br>The market price of human flesh; and while<br>On thee, their pampered guest, the planters smile,<br>Thy church shall praise.<br>Grave, reverend men shall tell<br>From Northern pulpits how thy work was blest,<br>While in that vile South Sodom first and best,<br>Thy poor disciples. sell.<br>Oh, shame! the Moslem thrall,<br>Who, with his master, to the Prophet kneels,<br>While turning to the sacred Kebla feels<br>His fetters break and fall.<br>Cheers for the turbaned Bey<br>Of robber-peopled Tunis! he hath torn<br>The dark slave-dungeons open, and hath borne<br>Their inmates into day:<br>But our poor slave in vain.<br>Turns to the Christian shrine his aching eyes;<br>Its rites will only swell his market price,<br>And rivet on his chain.<br>God of all right! how long<br>Shall priestly robbers at Thine altar stand,<br>Lifting in prayer to Thee, the bloody hand<br>And haughty brow of wrong?<br>Oh, from the fields of cane,<br>From the low rice-swamp, from the trader's cell;<br>From the black slave-ship's foul and loathsome hell,<br>And coffle's weary chain;<br>Hoarse, horrible, and strong,<br>Rises to Heaven that agonizing cry,<br>Filling the arches of the hollow sky,<br>How long, O God, how long?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420663" data-title="The Christian Slave de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="A CHRISTIAN! going, gone!
Who bids for God's own image? for his grace,
Which that poor victim of the market-place
Hath in her suffering won?
My God! can such things be?
Hast Thou not said that whatsoe'er is done
Unto Thy weakest and Thy humblest o..."></div>
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