O pity the poor little slave,
Who labors hard through all the day--
And has no one,
When day is done,
To teach his youthful heart to pray.
No words of love--no fond embrace--
No smiles from parents kind and dear;
No tears are shed
Around his bed,
When fevers rage, and death is near.
None feel for him when heavy chains
Are fastened to his tender limb;
No pitying eyes,
No sympathies,
No prayers are raised to heaven for him.
Yes I will pity the poor slave,
And pray that he may soon be free;
That he at last,
When days are past,
In heaven may have his liberty.