The noble horse, but, oh! How oft the poor
Ill-treated brute, starv'd, whipp'd and overworked,
Oft suffers in Quebec. It must be so,
And hardly can be otherwise, because
Our horses, here, are often plac'd in charge
Of cruel men who know not how to shew
A kindly deed to either man or beast.
The tender mercies of the wicked are
Dark, savage, cruel and malevolent.
How seldom do you see the carter give
A helping hand to his poor panting horse,
While struggling 'neath a heavy load up some
Steep hill, or stuck in some deep muddy rut.
No, no; he'd rather sit upon his load,
And whip his horse, regardless of the pain
The tortur'd brute must suffer at his hands.
What does he care, so long as he can take
His stupid ease and rest his lazy limbs!
Too long these low-bred wretches have been school'd
In thoughtless or in wanton cruelty;
But weeping mercy in her soft appeals
Has touch'd a chord in many a feeling heart,
And men are calling to their fellow-men
To spread the blessings of humanity.
Besides our laws are being put in force,
And cruel wretches now begin to feel
That vindicated law asserts her power
To save the tortur'd beasts from their misdeeds--
That punishment pursues their cruelty.
Thanks, many thanks to those kind hearted men
Who raise a shield to save the poor dumb brute
From those whose frozen hearts ne'er felt a pang
Of sorrow for the creature's sufferings;
And whose dull minds ne'er think that He who marks
The sparrows fall, beholds their cruelty.
But bright-eyed faith looks to a happier time
When men shall learn what mercy stoops to teach--
The lovely lesson of humanity,
And then the lower animals shall share
In all the bliss which pity loves to show.
O! How I long for those delightful days
When deeds of cruelty shall be unknown--
When grateful mercy shall sings songs of praise
And kindness to the noble horse be shown.
- S. Moore