God gave to Afric's sons A brow of sable dye,And spread the country of their birth Beneath a burning sky,And with a cheek of olive, made The little Hindoo child,And darkly stain'd the forest-tribes That roam our western wild.
To me he gave a form Of fairer, whiter clay;But am I, therefore, in his sight Respected more than they?No, 'tis the hue of deeds and thoughts He traces in his Book,'Tis the complexion of the heart On which he deigns to look.
Not by the tinted cheek That fades away so fast,But by the color of the soul, We shall be judg'd at last.And God, the Judge, will look at me With anger in his eyes,If I, my brother's darker brow Should ever dare despise.
