Oh he is worn with toil! the big drops run br Down his dark cheek; hold--hold thy merciless hand, br Pale tyrant! for beneath thy hard command br O'erwearied Nature sinks. The scorching Sun, br As pityless as proud Prosperity, br Darts on him his full beams; gasping he lies br Arraigning with his looks the patient skies, br While that inhuman trader lifts on high br The mangling scourge. Oh ye who at your ease br Sip the blood-sweeten'd beverage! thoughts like these br Haply ye scorn: I thank thee Gracious God! br That I do feel upon my cheek the glow br Of indignation, when beneath the rod br A sable brother writhes in silent woe.