And thou should'st call her thine;
Should little ones around thee stand,
Or round thy bosom twine,
Thou wilt not know how soon away
These loves may all be riv'n,
Nor what a darkened troop of woe
Through thy lone breast be driv'n.

Thy master may be kind, and give
Thy every wish to thee,
Only deny that greatest wish,
_That longing to be free:_
Still it will seem a comfort small
That thou hast sweeter bread,
A better hut than other slaves,
Or pillow for thy head.

What joys soe'er may gather round,
What other comforts flow,--
_That_, like a mountain in the sea,
O'ertops each wave below,
That ever-upward, firm desire
To break the chains, and be
Free as the ocean is, or like
The ocean-winds, be free.

Oh, child! thou art a little slave;
And all of thee that grows,
Will be another's weight of flesh,--
But thine the weight of wees