58
To me he gave a form
Of fairer, whiter clay;
But am I, therefore, in his sight
Respected more than they?
No,—'tis the hue of deeds and thoughts
He traces in his Book,
'Tis the complexion of the heart
On which he deigns to look.
Not by the tinted cheek
That fades away so fast,
But by the color of the soul,
We shall be judg'd at last.
And God, the Judge, will look at me
With anger in his eyes,
If I, my brother's darker brow
Should ever dare despise.