‘I was in prison’—thus our Saviour spake,
‘And unto me ye came!’
“So, lady! while thy heart with mother’s love
And sister’s pity cheers the captive’s lot,
Truth keeps her record in the courts above,
And thou art not forgot.
“Though nations war, and rulers match their might,
Our human bosoms must be kindred yet,
And eyes that blazed with battle’s lurid light,
Soft pity’s tears may wet.