Who is My Neighbor? by James Riddall Wood
"The first and great commandment." "Thou shalt love the Lord with all thy heart." "And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself."
"Let there be Light!" creative Wisdom said,
Light waved her wings; -- eternal chaos fled; --
"Let there be Light!" the sun arose at length
And scaled the heavens, rejoicing in his strength; --
"Let there be Light!" and midnight's gloomy noon
Was cheered and mellowed by the crescent moon;-
"Let there be Light!" and, lo! the evening sky
Was radiant with its myriad stars on high.
And still the sun is on his sapphire throne,
The moon adorns as yet her ebon zone,
Untarnished by the gathering dust of years,
The stars still glitter from their happy spheres.
When shall the Spirit's all-creating word
Throughout the moral universe be heard,
Commanding, as at first, with power divine,
The glorious energy of truth to shine,
Cheering the gloomy hemisphere of mind,
Where passion fires, or lust enslaves mankind;
Breathing on all by sin's foul stain defiled,
Till Truth's fair form adorns the moral wild;
Paint Vice in all the hideous hues she wears,
To wither in the infamy of years;
Bids haughty Pride a humble suppliant kneel,
And makes the soul of cruelty to feel?
Virtue and wisdom from on high impart,
Till love once more possess the human heart;
Not the base love of pleasure, power, or pelf,
But love which loves his neighbour as himself.
Who is my neighbour? sainted Howard tell! --
Behold the wretch that groans in yonder cell,
Dark, damp, and cold, -- a stranger to the breeze, --
Where noxious vapours generate disease,
Whose crimes consigned him to that gloomy den,
Poor outcast from the sympathies of men.
Thy neighbour dwells on many a distant shore,
The Dane, the Swede, the Pole, the Russian boor,
The hordes of Asia, and the selfish Turk,
In whose dark breast still darker passions lurk.
Where'er the sun goes forth his glorious round,
Where'er the "human form divine" is found,
The Christian will pursue his Master's plan,
And recognize a neighbour in the man.
Who is my neighbour? Wilberforce declare!
Yon sable son of wretchedness and care,
Torn from his home on Afric's happy soil,
And doomed by avarice to perpetual toil; --
Those tens of thousands, whom the western wave
Released from bondage by a watery grave; --
That anguished mother, desolate and wild,
Shrieking -- but vainly shrieking -- for her child; --
That care-worn husband, who, from day to day,
Beholds his wife by suffering worn away,
Till the foiled tyrants in their malice see,
Death interpose, and set the captive free.
Lo! from the glowing islands of the West,
A plaintive murmur, as of one distressed,
To Britain cried across the Atlantic main,
Imploring aid, too long implored in vain.
Louder and louder rose that fearful wail,
And swelled to anguish on the rising gale;
Whilst Britain heard, but with a heart of stone
Beheld oppression choke the sufferer's groan.
Hell caught the sound, and joined in fierce demand
For wrath upon a guilty christian land: --
Those groans ascended where the Elders stood,
And called for vengeance loud as Abel's blood; --
Those stifled groans, -- that sin avenging cry, --
Were heard, and felt, and registered on high,
"Where is thy brother?" thundered in the air,
Earth heard her Maker's voice, and echoed -- "Where?"
The cruel tyrant, hardened in his pride,
"Am I my brother's keeper?" stem replied.
Then judgment fell, than Egypt's judgments worse,
Though Infidelity asks, "Where's the curse?"
Where? -- In the burning fever of the West;
In commerce paralysed, and man distressed;
In wild tornadoes wasting from afar;
In civil discord, blasphemy, and war;
In guilty passions spurning all control;
In lust, in pride, in barrenness of soul: --
These stamp the dark, inhuman traffic now,
True as the mark on Cain the murderer's brow.
Oh! shame to Britain; island of the free,
Well may the nations scornful turn to thee.
What is thy wealth, thy fame, thy pride of birth?
'Tis moral character that stamps their worth;
The want of this makes pampered greatness bow,
Withers the laurel on the conqueror's brow,
Blasts every honour wealth or genius brings,
And dims the brightest diadem of kings.
Oh! rend the heavens, Almighty Conqueror, rend!
In majesty and mercy now descend;
Chase from the earth these shades of mental night,
And visit man with heaven's celestial light; --
Then shall the oppressor humbly turn to thee,
Forsake his sins and "let the oppressed go free;" --
Then shall the sable slave on whom he trod
Stretch his freed hands and call upon his God; --
Anticipate a brighter world above,
And bask in all the liberty of love.
Then shall the blest Desire of Nations come;
All men be Brethren and each land a Home.
James Riddall Wood.