Though stripped of all the dearest rights
Which nature claims and a’ that,
There’s that which in the slave unites
To make the man for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Though dark his skin, and a’ that,
We cannot rob him of his kind,
The slave’s a man, for a’ that.
Though by his brother bought and sold,
And beat and scourged, and a’ that,
His wrongs can ne’er be felt or told,
Yet he’s a man for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that,
His body chained and a’ that,
The image of his God remains,—
The slave’s a man, for a’ that.
How dark the spirit that enslaves!
Yet darker still than a’ that,
He, who amid the light, still craves
Apologies, and a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Small evil finds, and a’ that,
In crimes which are of darkest hue,
And foulest deeds, and a’ that.
If those who now in bondage groan,
Were white, and fair, and a’ that,
O should we not their fate bemoan,
And plead their cause, and a’ that?
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Would any say, in a’ that
We’ve nought to do—they are not here—
We’ll mind our own, and a’ that?
O tell us not they’re clothed and fed,
’Tis insult, stuff, and a’ that;
With freedom gone, all joy is fled,
For Heaven’s best gift is a’ that!
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Free agency, and a’ that,
We get from Him who rules on high—
The slave we rob of a’ that.
Then think not to escape His wrath,
Who’s equal, just, and a’ that;
His warning voice is sounded forth,
We heed it not, for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that,
’Tis not less sure for a’ that;
His vengeance, though ’tis long delayed,
Will come at last, for a’ that.