e and kindness for his fellows, there are probably several who
cannot generate those feelings within themselves. So I predict that the
unfortunate state of affairs in that dark land will continue for quite
some time to come. It's a very negative prognosis, I know. But the
accumulated wisdom I have acquired over many years tells me that this is
so."

"I know one thing," said Lisa. "The people who live in the land where
Dorothy comes from are much too intelligent to allow such foolishness to
exist there."

The other members of the little group turned to each other knowingly,
and slowly shook their heads. For they knew that the unfortunate fact of
the matter was that the land where Dorothy came from had had a similar
history. In fact, even as I write these words, there are people in the
mortal lands who have lost their homes and all of their worldly
possessions, and many, their lives, simply because they had the
misfortune to be born different in some way than their neighbors.

Everyone became very quiet as he assimilated all that had been said.
Ozma spoke first. "I would like to read, if I may, a poem from a little
book given to me by a dear friend. I was reminded of this poem when
Tweaty spoke of the difficulties the green chilepepper people
encountered. The poem was written by a mortal human named William Blake.
It is called _The Little Black Boy_."

_My mother bore me in the southern wild
And I am black, but O my soul is white
White as an angel is the English child
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And, sitting down before the heat of the day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,
And, pointing to the East, began to say:

"Look on the rising sun: there God does live,
And gives His light, and gives His heat away,
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in the morning, joy in the noonday.

"And we are put on Earth a little space
That we may learn to bear the beams of love;
And these black bodies and this sunburnt face
Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

"For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear,
The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice,
Saying, 'Come out from the grove, my love and care,
And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice.'"

Thus did my mother say, and kissed me,
And thus I say to the little English boy.