For ever with that monstrous mass of ill?
Must millions suffer these dread miseries,
While but a few enjoy the grateful fruits?”
For are there not, confined in our dense towns,
And scattered over our most fertile fields,
Millions of men who live a lower life—
Lower in physical and moral health—
Than the Red Indian of these trackless wilds?
Have we not thousands too who live a life
More low, through eager longing after gold,—