To a Negro Infant, by Ann Gilbert (née Taylor)
Rejoicing to kindle the morn,
When thou to the arms of a captive wast given?--
A negro child! -- why is it born?
Why did not the Father of all, in his grace,
Life's spark to thy being deny?
Or bid thee grow cold in thy mother's embrace,
From her dark bosom borne to the sky?
In vain will her smile, well dissembled, essay
Thy morn of existence to cheer;
Deep, deep is the gloom that o'ershadows thy day,
Though even a mother be near.
But, haply, the will of some tyrant shall rend
The tie softly woven in Heaven,
And that breathing pillow, that tenderest friend,
May far from her dearest be driven:
Remote in some distant plantation, her tears
May water the sweet-growing soil,
And the thought of her baby, more swiftly than years,
Consume her,--more surely, than toil.
And when, with the weary at rest, she shall lie,
The clods of the valley her bed,
Thou, child, 'neath the blaze of a merciless sky,
The same track of sorrow shalt tread.
Thou then,--but a streak on the mountains I see,
The rainbow of promise I trace!--
The Father of all is preparing for thee,
Poor baby, the smile of his grace!
Already, warm hearts doth His Spirit inspire,
The captive to free from his chain;
And the brave, and the lovely, with ceaseless desire,
The rights of the negro maintain.
Yea see, where a sail, like a speck on the wave,
Rides on through the desert of foam,
And the meek man of God, for the land of the slave,
Has left the green vales of his home.
Oh! why did my soul, in its sadness, repine,
Life's spark in thy being to view?
The freedom of Heaven, little slave, shall be thine,
In Jesus created anew.
We haste,--on the wings of compassion, we fly,
The banner of Mercy to rear:--
Then live, thou dark baby, till bright in the sky
The rainbow of promise appear.
Ann Gilbert.
Nottingham,
1826.