Page:Livingstone in Africa.djvu/37

Thou knowest, O Lord, my prime solicitude
Was for the work Thou hast to me unworthy
Confided in Thy Providence unachieved,—
And yet I know the Holiest never fails
For lack of service; but allows to each
The measure He in wisdom hath ordain'd.

For all the land is foul with monstrous wrong,
And desolation of the sons of Hell.
Surely the long long wail of human woe
Ever ascends from all our earth to heaven!
But here the mist of blind unending tears
Hangs undissolving, and abolishes
Yon very Life-Light from His shining halls,
And hides the Father from his orphan'd sons.
Hell is let loose; and jubilant cruelty
Tortures a feeble lowly-witted race,
Poor fallen outcast of humanity;
Inflames the lurking salvage brute that haunts
A wilding blood to fratricidal war,
To thrall its very kindred, for the sport
Of paler large-brain'd fiends, the common foe,