I.
Not always shall the lordling's heel
Be planted on the poor man's neck ;
Not always shall the bondman kneel
Submissive to the tyrant's beck.
II.
The soul shall yet assert its right,
Though long despoil’d by brutal lust ;
And struggling upward in its might,
Dash the oppressor to the dust.
III.
Who plants his foot on human hearts,
Treads on the volcan's crumbling brink;
The fires beneath flash up—he starts !
Too late-the struggling wretch must sink;
IV.
O God! we may not rashly set
A limit to thy saving grace;
We pray thee spare th' oppressor yet,
That haply he may seek thy face:
V.
And turning from his hideous sin,
His brother's plunder'd rights restore ;
Lest veng'ance shall its work begin,
When mercy's voice can plead no more.
