When I Was Nearly Twelve Years Old,

Could You Have Seen That Mother Clinging To Her Child, When They Fastened The Irons Upon His Wrists; Could You Have Heard Her Heart-rending Groans, And Seen Her Bloodshot Eyes Wander Wildly From Face To Face, Vainly Pleading For Mercy; Could You Have Witnessed That Scene As I Saw It, You Would Exclaim, Slavery Is Damnable!

There Must Be Sophistry In All This; But The Condition Of A Slave Confuses All Principles Of Morality, And, In Fact, Renders The Practice Of Them Impossible.

I Would Rather Drudge Out My Life On A Cotton Plantation, Till The Grave Opened To Give Me Rest, Than To Live With An Unprincipled Master And A Jealous Mistress.

Always It Gave Me A Pang That My Children Had No Lawful Claim To A Name.

There Are Wrongs Which Even The Grave Does Not Bury.