Yes, there's a balm in Christian lands —
Sweet balm — lone, injur'd one! for thee;
And here are many gen'rous hands,
That fain would set each captive free.

Nor yet has pure and holy love,
Become extinct in woman's breast;
Secluded closet-scenes can prove,
How much she feels for all th' oppress'd.

Ye ask — " Is no Physician there? "
Yes, kind and ready to impart
Pity, that dries e'en slavery's tear,
And balsam for the broken heart.

And there's an eye that never sleeps,
That all thy bitter anguish heeds;
Justice the fearful reck'ning keeps,
While mercy's self for vengeance pleads.