Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer

Why Is It?

Why is it so, Dear Prince of Peace,
That wrongs to Negroes never cease?
Are they disloyal to thy name,
And thus are punished for the same?

Is this thy training school on earth,
To mould a race of truest worth?
Pray is it thus that lives are pruned
And sanctified, for heaven tuned?

Thou art the refuge of the race,
That all its troubles will efface,
Wilt thou incline the wayward heart,
To keep thy law in ev'ry part?

'Tis needful that offences come,
But woe unto the man by whom!
They come the evil hearts to chain,
And drive them back to thee again.

For such afflictions, we are told,
Bring people nearer to the fold,
If this be true, then teach them now,
To such conditions here to bow.

Thy chosen people suffer here,
Such chastenings as children, dear,
With patience sweet, in peace and love,
Prepare their souls for life above.

They suffer from refining pains,
The kinds that raise to highest planes,
Can this be why, Dear Prince of Peace,
That wrongs to Negroes never cease?