There Are Wrongs Which Even The Grave

But To The Slave Mother New Year's Day Comes Laden With Peculiar Sorrows. She Sits On Her Cold Cabin Floor, Watching The Children Who May All Be Torn From Her The Next Morning And Often Does She Wish That She And They Might Die Before The Day Dawns.

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.

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!

Notwithstanding My Grandmother's Long And Faithful Service To Her Owners, Not One Of Her Children Escaped The Auction Block. These God-breathing Machines Are No More, In The Sight Of Their Masters, Than The Cotton They Plant, Or The Horses They Tend.

Dr. Flint Had Sworn That He Would Make Me Suffer, To My Last Day, For This New Crime Against Him, As He Called It; And As Long As He Had Me In His Power He Kept His Word