The Saving Slave, by Ethel Trew Dunlap
It is the slave who taught me how
To find my way to God--
The slave whose sires have fed the stake
And felt the white man’s rod.
O trust the wisdom of the race
Whom suffering has taught.
They are with vision that the blood
Of their forefathers bought.
And while the stake consumes their kin,
Their lips are teaching me
How to forgive and tread the path
With Christ of Galilea.
They saved me from the white man’s curse--
The slave with tender arm
Pressed me unto his loving breast
Until my heart grew warm.
He saved me from the Aryan pride--
I clasped the Afric hand
To flea Gomorrah’s certain curse
That hovers o’er this land.
As doves return to evening bowers,
When my soul seeks repose,
To Ephraim’s rare love I fly,
With all my joys and woes.
I could not bear the cross alone
Unless the saving slave
Walked with me in my painful path
On this side of the wave.
