  He is not ashamed to call them brethren. Ho! thou dark and weary stranger From the tropic’s palmy strand, Bowed with toil, with mind benighted, What wouldst thou upon our land? Am I not, O man, thy brother? Spake the stranger patiently, All that makes thee, man, immortal, Tell me, dwells it not in me? I, like thee, have joy, have sorrow, I, like thee, have love and fear, I, like thee, have hopes and longings Far beyond this earthly sphere. Thou art happy,—I am sorrowing, Thou art rich, and I am poor; In the name of our one Father Do not spurn me from your door. Thus the dark one spake, imploring, To each stranger passing nigh, But each child and man and woman, Priest and Levite passed him by. Spurned of men,—despised, rejected, Spurned from school and church and hall, Spurned from business and from pleasure, Sad he stood, apart from all. Then I saw a form all glorious, Spotless as the dazzling light, As He passed, men veiled their faces, And the earth, as heaven, grew bright. Spake he to the dusky stranger, Awe-struck there on bended knee, Rise! for I have called thee brother, I am not ashamed of thee. When I wedded mortal nature To my Godhead and my throne, Then I made all mankind sacred, Sealed all human for mine own. By Myself, the Lord of ages, I have sworn to right the wrong, I have pledged my word, unbroken, For the weak against the strong. And upon my gospel banner I have blazed in light the sign, He who scorns his lowliest brother, Never shall have hand of mine. Hear the word!—who fight for freedom! Shout it in the battle’s van! Hope! for bleeding human nature! Christ the God, is Christ the man! H. E. B. Stowe.
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