And she perchance too grateful - good and ill
Were sown at first, and grow together still;
The colour’d infants on the village green,
What are they more than we have often seen?
Children half-clothed who round their village stray,
In sun or rain, now starved, now beaten, they
Will the dark colour of their fate betray:
Let us in Christian love for all account,
And then behold to what such tales amount.”
“His heart is evil,” said the impatient Friend: