And rivet on her chain.
God of all right! how long
Shall priestly robbers at Thine altar stand,
Lifting in prayer to Thee the bloody hand
And haughty brow of wrong!
O, from the fields of cane,
From the low rice-swamp, from the trader’s cell—
From the black slave-ship’s foul and loathsome hell,
And coffle’s weary chain—
Hoarse, horrible, and strong,