The Slave Boy's Wish

I wish I was that little bird, Up in the bright blue sky, That sings and flies just where he will, And no one asks him why. I wish I was that little brook, That runs so swift along, Through pretty flowers and shining stones, Singing a merry song. I wish I was that butterfly, Without a thought or care, Sporting my pretty, brilliant wings, Like a flower in the air. I wish I was that wild, wild deer, I saw the other day, Who swifter than an arrow flew, Through the forest far away. I wish I was that little cloud, By the gentle south wind driven, Floating along so free and bright, Far, far up into heaven. I'd rather be a cunning fox, And hide me in a cave; I'd rather be a savage wolf, Than what I am-a slave. My mother calls me her good boy, My father calls me brave; What wicked action have I done, That I should be a slave? I saw my little sister sold, So will they do to me; My heavenly Father, let me die, For then I shall be free.