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The Vilest Fiend of All.

False spirit! take thy fiendish shape,
  Thy name is demon, and not wine;
Durst thou cling to the purple grape,
  Durst thou seek shelter 'neath the vine?
Nay, cling unto thy patron—Death,
  And hide thee 'neath his blackest pall:
Throughout Creation's length and breadth,
  Thou art the vilest fiend of all.

What are thy crimes? Go, ask the grave,
  That, yawning, waits its lifeless clod—
Thy murdered serf, thy poisoned slave,
  A type, once, of the living God;

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The shrieks within the maniac's cell,
  The chain clinks 'yond the prison's wall,
The wails and groans of millions, tell
  Thou art the vilest fiend of all.

What are thy crimes? Yon soulless thing
 Was once God's image, pure and fair;
Yea, fiend, as witnesses I'll bring,
  Lust, hatred, murder, and despair,
To prove thy guilt! the fiercest flame
  That burns below when sinners fall,
Is fed by thee, remorse and shame
  Proclaim thee, vilest fiend of all.

What are thy crimes? Thy counsel's plea
  Is this: Thou'rt good, and we should prize
Heaven's gifts; but I do view in thee
  A cruel devil in disguise;
Before thee, peace and comfort fly,
  Replaced by senseless feud and brawl;
Near thee, truth, love, and honour die—
  Thou art the vilest fiend of all.

Oh, God of justice! God of right!
  Why is the world so full of woe,

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Why are souls withered by this blight?
  Is this the working of Thy foe—
The rebel sire of sin and crime,
  Who makes thy likeness, man, his thrall?
Oh, Father! shield our new-born clime
  From this, the vilest fiend of all.