Dere is a rest-place for de weary feet,
an’ for de bitter cup a conquering sweet:
for sore an’ burdened hearts dere’lll be a balm,
And after days of tempest comes a calm.
For every smallest wrong dere is a right,
an’ t’rough de dark shall gleam a ray of light:
oppression for a season may endure,
but ‘tis true wud, “For ebery ill a cure.”
Den let me not t’ink hard of those who use
deir power tyrannously an’ abuse:
let me remember always while I live,
de noblest of all deeds is to forgive.
This, not revenge, is sweet: this lif’s de soul
an’ meks it wort’ while in a empty wul’:
far better than an old an’ outworn creed
‘tis each day to do one such noble deed.
From Songs of Jamaica (Aston W. Gardner & Co., 1912) by Claude McKay. This poem is in the public domain.