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To Las Casas
Las Casas, easing old bondage made sore
The more, stirred sheer inhumanity's new
And horrid face. The next race owes to you
This vile judgment on themselves, and endure
Till now, what God alone could make them stand,
While your kingdoms fell like empires of sand.
That call for mercy was blind to the heart
It was mercy so unmerciful, truth
So untruthful, it proved us all a brute
Cloaked in religion, and sense torn apart
From grace. African for Indians! Tell
Me, how else do you chose victims for hell?
I see Afric's children still as just men
But God sees them since, a true, tested friend.
Copyright ©
David Smalling
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