AMAZING THING
Timbers creaked in the ship's dank hold,
Echoing moans of blackest gold
To a slaver captain waxing old;
His conscience pricked amidst the mold.
Returned he home six hundred blacks.
He freed them from their shackled racks.
Yes, home again to thatch built shacks,
With yokes removed from whip-scarred backs.
He sold his ship when he got home
And found The God his youth had known.
A contrite wretch with tears on face,
Then wrote the hymn, "Amazing Grace."
What's more than that amazing thing,
A slaver wrote what Negroes sing.