LEGREE STRIKING TOM.
Tom's good wife Chloe, far at home,
And his boys so blythe and black,
Are all working hard, in hopes to win
The dollars, to buy him back.
And George, who taught him long ago,
Has many a pleasant plan,
To pay his price, and set him free.
When he comes to be a man.
But little does that wicked man,
In his angry madness, know,
That God himself will take account
Of each cruel word and blow.
And children dear, who see him here,
At night and morning pray,
That you may never have aught like this
Laid up for the judgment day!
By the time all these things happened, George Shelby had grown up; but when he came to buy back Tom, the pious, kindly negro, had been so ill-treated by that cruel planter, because he tried to save the other slaves from his evil temper, that he lay dying in an old shed; and there was no law to punish the wicked planter, because Tom was black.
When George entered the shed where Tom lay, he felt his head giddy and his heart sick.
"Is it possible?" said he, kneeling down by him. "Uncle Tom, my poor, poor old friend!"
Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying. He smiled, and said—
"Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are."
Tears fell from the young man's eyes as he bent over his poor friend.
"O, dear Uncle Tom! do wake—do speak once more! Look up. Here's Mas'r George—your own little Mas'r George. Don't you know me?"
"Mas'r George!" said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice—"Mas'r George!" He looked bewildered.