  BY FRANCES E. W. HARPER. Yes, Ethiopia yet shall stretch Her bleeding hands abroad; Her cry of agony shall reach Up to the throne of God. The tyrant's yoke from off her neck, His fetters from her soul, The mighty hand of God shall break, And spurn the base control. Redeemed from dust and freed from chains, Her sons shall lift their eyes; From cloud-capt hills and verdant plains Shall shouts of triumph rise. Upon her dark, despairing brow Shall play a smile of peace; For God shall bend unto her woe, And bid her sorrows cease. 'Neath sheltering vines and stately palms Shall laughing children play, And aged sires with joyous psalms Shall gladden every day. Secure by night, and blest by day, Shall pass her happy hours; Nor human tigers hunt for prey Within her peaceful bowers. Then, Ethiopia, stretch, O stretch Thy bleeding hands abroad! Thy cry of agony shall reach And find redress from God. |
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