Sonnet to Harriet Beecher Stowe

O Lady! heiress to a living fame, Most loving, pious, pure, and true of heart, Whose mighty pen hath made the whole world start Aghast and wond’ring that the blighting shame Of slavery should blot the earth; and claim Her advocates in men, who to the mart Drag on their fellows, groning ’neath the smart Of blasted hopes, divided loves, and aim Their manhood to crush out, and bow them down Like soul-less brutes by torture and the lash! Oh! noble is thine end! and may God crown The work with rich success, and swiftly dash Such yokes in twain, till men shout “Victory! A Jubilee on earth! all slaves are free!”