  The first effort of my early life in narrative writing, was in behalf of those who, in even darker days than these, were preËminently those who, on earth, “had no helper.” From this tale is selected these few lines—a song introduced into the story—not because it has any poetic merit, but because to me and perhaps to others, it seems interesting from the above circumstance. Catharine E. Beecher. SONG OF PRAISE.Though man neglects my sighing, And mocks the bitter tear, Yet does not God my crying With kindest pity hear? And when with fierce heat panting His hand can be my shade, And when with weakness fainting Support my aching head. And when I felt my cares For those his love can save, Will he not hear the prayers Of the poor negro slave? Yes, for the poor and needy He promises to save, And who is poor and needy Like the poor negro slave! |
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