233
 
The Lamp burns sure’—within’—
Tho’ Serfs’—supply the Oil’—
It matters not the busy Wick’—
At her phosphoric toil!
 
The Slave’—forgets’—to fill’—
The Lamp’—burns golden’—on’—
Unconscious that the oil is out’—
As that the Slave’—is gone.

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