8 THE NEGRO'S PRAYER.
JESUS who mak'st the meanest soul An object of thy care, Attend to what my heart would speak, Hear a poor Negro's prayer.
For thou, when bleeding on the cross, My sins and griefs did'st bear; This mak'st me think thou'lt not refuse To hear a Negro's prayer.
I was a helpless Negro boy, And wander'd on the shore, Thieves took me from my parents' arms, I never saw them more.
But yet my lot, which seem'd so hard, Quite otherwise did prove; For I was carried far from home To learn a Saviour's love.
Poor and despised though I was Yet thou, O God, wast nigh, And when thy mercy first I saw, Sure none so glad as I.
In ignorance I long had liv'd, A rebel too had been: But thy great kindness, O my God, Sav'd me from all my sin.
Mine was a wretched state, expos'd To men and angels view; A slave to man, a slave to sin, A slave to Satan too.
