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[161] Plump dropped the holy tome, and o'er
     Its sacred pages stumbling,
Bound hand and foot, a slave once more,
     The hapless wretch lay trembling.

I saw the parson tie the knots,
     The while his flock addressing,
The Scriptural claims of slavery
     With text on text impressing.

‘Although,’ said he, “on Sabbath day
     All secular occupations
Are deadly sins, we must fulfil
     Our moral obligations:

And this commends itself as one
     To every conscience tender;
As Paul sent back Onesimus,
     My Christian friends, we send her! “

Shriek rose on shriek,—the Sabbath air
     Her wild cries tore asunder;
I listened, with hushed breath, to hear
     God answering with his thunder!

All still! the very altar's cloth
     Had smothered down her shrieking,
And, dumb, she turned from face to face,
     For human pity seeking!

I saw her dragged along the aisle,
     Her shackles harshly clanking;
I heard the parson, over all,
     The Lord devoutly thanking!

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