African American Poetry (1870-1927): A Digital Anthology

Frank B. Coffin, "Coffin's Poems with Ajax' Ordeals" (full text) (1897)

 
 COFFIN'S POEMS 
 
 with 
 
 Ajax' Ordeals 
 
 F. B. Coffin 
 
LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS: 
 
 The Colored Advocate, Printers and Binders. 
 
 1897.



 
 Copyright 1897 by 
 F. B. Coffin.


 
 Dedicated 
 
 FIRST. 
 
 To the memory 
 Of that angelic woman, 
 
 Who claimed me as her son ; 
 Of that majestic woman, 
 
 Whose race on earth was run 
 Long before I was old enough, 
 
 To reason right from wrong; 
 Long before I listened to 
 
 Redemption's saving song. 
 Of that Christ loving woman, 
 
 Who's now at Jesus' home, 
 Who sits and talks with angels, 
 
 And with archangels roam. 
 
 SECOND. 

 To the conscience of the nation, 
 
 With the hopes that it may rise 
 To the point of elevation 
 
 That will open up its eyes, 
 And lend to us a list'ning ear, 
 
 For the pitiful tale of woe, 
 That Ajax* cannot sleep at night 
 
 For lynchers are aglow. 
 They burn poor Ajax at the stake, 
 
 They hang him to a tree ; 
 They chop him up like sausage meat, 
 
 From home they make him flee. 
 
 *The latter part of this volume will explain 
 who Ajax is.



 
 Preface. 
 
 Brief is our life here, precious is the time, 
 and great the work to do, and a few thoughts 
 in print has the possibility of a longer life than 
 a man. " The night cometh when no man can 
 work." 
 
 How sweet, if it might be, that when the 
 day is ended, we may have left some watch 
 words still ringing in the ears of those who 
 come after us. And I may be permitted to 
 hope that these meditations may have such 
 power, in their modest way. They will be 
 easily passed by but may have a message for 
 hearts that will look and listen. 
 
 There is, certainly in this age, a want of 
 writing that shall restand brace the mind. It 
 is well to extend natural and spontaneous 
 thoughts, especially that which the heart has 
 laid by in store. We must be militant here on 
 earth, militant against every form of error. 
 
 If, during the period of American Slavery, 
 any Anglo-Saxon raised his voice or moved 
 his pen in the interest of the stolen and op 
 pressed African, thai man was marked, reviled 
 and ostracised as if he was affected with the 
 leprosy. No historian could write a true re-

 
 In this age ideal frivolity supersedes stern 
 reality. In most of our large cities in the 
 South outside of the college societies there 
 are no permanent, genuine literary organiza 
 tions among our so called intelligent people 
 for elevation. 
 
 They meet socially with no definite purpose 
 to social elevation. They meet religiously 
 with their souls on fashion and God as secon 
 dary. They never meet intellectually. These 
 talents grow up in thorns and thistles. Noth 
 ing to inspire our youths to merit. Position, 
 irrespective to character or ability, reigns su 
 preme. Thousands of youths grow up under 
 this poisonous atmosphere in the large cities. 
 But it is encouraging to see that, from the 
 smaller towns, the college walls(our safe 
 guards) are filled with youths preparing them 
 selves to meet the demands of future times. 
 
 What is the worth of fashion, style, and 
 social ethics if it does not add to the world 
 better, nobler, truer, sounder, more reliable 
 men from its factory? Time will not attempt 
 to test their logic but will, eventually, weigh 
 the results. AUTHOR.



 
 At My Mother's Grave. 
 
 I never see the burial place, 
 Where my dear mother lies ; 
 But that I think I see her face, 
 Peak at me through the skies. 
 
 I stand around her sacred mound, 
 And think she knows I'm there; 
 I kneel upon the sacred ground 
 And lisp her evening prayer. 
 
 Her fav'rite hymn I then repeat, 
 With accents all her own ; 
 We seem to meet at Jesus' feet, 
 And linger near His throne. 
 
 She sleeps within her narrow cot, 
 Safe "tucked in" from the night; 
 Resigned, I leave the solemn spot, 
 "God doeth all things right."



 
 12 OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 What an hour it must have been 
 For a woman's tender heart, 
 
 When the pityless, rough lynchers, 
 Tore she'nd her husband apart. 
 
 And while the mother clasped her hands 
 And the children wept and prayed ; 
 
 The whole family made struggles, 
 And shrieked to heaven for aid. 
 
 The atrocities of Russia 
 
 Against the thriving Jew, 
 And the horrors of Liberia, 
 
 Would disappear from view. 
 
 Mob violence against China, 
 
 And all the heathen lands; 
 Is far surpassed by lynch law, 
 
 In this, our Southern land. 
 
 If we ask ourselves the question 
 "Why do they lynch the Negro?" 
 
 Our hearts respond full sadly, 
 "They, nor we, do not know." 
 
 We've asked the wise in every age, 
 And searched the universe around ; 
 
 But neither scientist nor sage, 
 
 An answer to the quest has found.
 
 Is it God's will, what seer can tell? 
 
 (Thus do our anxious thoughts revolve) 
 Or is there not borne oracle, 
 
 That can or will the problem solve? 
 
 Are we but phantoms, with no cause, 
 But chance from cradle to the grave; 
 
 Or those inexorable laws 
 
 Of which agnostics boast and rave? 
 
 Or are we orphans with no home, 
 With none whom we can father call ; 
 
 As outcasts here a while to roam, 
 
 And then pass off with " death ends all?" 
 
 No ! let us not discouraged be 
 
 But hope and ever pray 
 That wrong and inhumanity, 
 
 May cease to be some day. 
 
 While the storms of life are raging 
 
 Lynching wild in our land, 
 Can we find a better refuge 
 
 Than the shadow of God's hand? 
 
 But what shall cleanse our country 
 
 From all this painful guilt, 
 The blood of freemen shed by freemen, 
 
 Upon her bosom spilt?
 When the pilgrim fathers came 
 
 From far across the sea ; 
 Their purposes were nobler than 
 
 The lynching of the free. 
 
 W r hen Washington at Valley Forge 
 
 Endured the winter's pain, 
 And when he crossed the Deleware 
 
 'Twas all for freedom's name. 
 
 He knew not that a cent'ry hence, 
 The flag for which he fought ; 
 
 W r ould be disgraced by lynching men, 
 By taking life for naught. 
 
 When Lincoln gave that mighty stroke, 
 When Sherman reached the sea, 
 
 When Grant took Appomatax, 
 Their cry was liberty. 
 
 When John Brown laid his body down 
 And his soul went marching on, 
 
 He knew not that his cause would be 
 Disgraced by this great wrong. 
 
 Could these great men speak back today 
 
 From their resting domain; 
 They'd whisper all in one accord, 
 
 "Our blood was spilt in vain."



 
 Dear native land, a newer page 
 
 Must turn as time moves by ; 
 Shall that page be brighter, 
 
 Or shall thy greatness die? 
 
 Thou hast a noble government, 
 
 And 'tis with trembling heart, 
 That we see what thou appearest 
 
 And look on what thou art. 
 
 We've wept till we could not weep, 
 And the pain of our burning eyes 
 
 Has gone into our aching hearts, 
 And now the nation cries. 
 
 Earth uplifts a general cry, 
 
 For all this guilt and wrong; 
 And heaven's ears are listening 
 
 To the suff'rers' wailing song. 
 
 Who'll interpret this mystery? 
 
 Even the common dust 
 Under the feet of the guilty 
 
 Cries out "this crime's unjust." 
 
 But we shall see the day, 
 
 When risrht shall surely reign ; 
 When at the bar of conscience, 
 
 The guilty sljall be slain.



 
 -OUR COUNTRY. 
 
 It may be when Ida Wells' lessons have been learned  
 The lynchers sun forever more has set, 
 The things which our weak judgment here have spurned, 
 The things o'er which we've grieved with lashes wet, 
 
 Will flash before them out of life's dark night 
 As stars shine most in deeper tints of blue. 
 And they shall see how all her plans were right 
 And how what seemed reproof was love most true; 
 
 And when those nations far across the sea 
 Begin to point o'er here the finger of shame, 
 And show our state the depth of all these crimes, 
 I think she will take steps to stop the same. 
 
 You know that prudent parents disallow 
 Too much of sweet to craving babyhood ; 
 So God, perhaps, is holding from us now 
 Life's sweetest things because it seemethgood, 
 And they shall shortly know that lengthened breath 
 Is not the sweetest gift Godsends His friends,

 And that sometimes the sable pall of death 
 Conceals the fairest boon His love can send. 
 And if through all this strife we live to stand 
 Where ourmindsfromlynchingnews may rest, 
 Then we shall clearly know and understand ; 
 1 think that all will say "God knew the best." 
 
 Only. 
 
 Only Afric's jungles 
 Satisfied his mind, 
 While the happy Negro 
 On his couch reclined. 
 
 Only a human trading ship 
 Coasting along the shore, 
 The Negro knew not whither 
 Still he had to go. 
 
 Only a "Star Spangled banner," 
 The Negro saw it wave, 
 But he saw not "land of free" 
 Neither "home of brave." 
 
 Only slavery's hardships 
 The Negro bore for years, 
 On through the wilderness 
 With headaches and tears.
 
 Only John Brown's body 
 Is moulding in the clay, 
 Yet his soul is marching, 
 Showing us the way. 
 
 Only Bull Run's battle, 
 Up sprang General Grant, 
 Four long years of bloodshed, 
 Freedom was the chant. 
 
 Only Abraham Lincoln 
 Gave the mighty stroke, 
 And four million Negroes 
 Lost the slavish yoke. 
 
 Only an education, 
 That is what he wants, 
 And to be a citizen 
 But they say he can't. 
 
 Only abiding by the law 
 Of our God and man, 
 And on all public questions 
 For the right, he tries to stand. 
 
 Only to suit the appetites 
 Of other wicked men, 
 Our race is mobb'd and lynch'd 
 Isn't that a sin? 
 
 Only proud America 
 Detests human strife, 
 Still has not courage to 
 Protect human life. 
 
 Only that coming day, 
 'Pointed hour make haste, 
 She must stand 'fore her God, 
 Past that solemn test. 
 
 
 
 
 Mother's Songs. 
 
 The summer's sun was beaming hot, 
 The boys had played all day ; 
 
 And now beside a rippling stream, 
 Upon the grass they lay. 
 
 Tired of games and idle jest, 
 
 As swept the hours along, 
 They called on one who mused at times, 
 
 "Come pard, give us a song." 
 
 "I fear I cannot please," he said, 
 
 "The only songs I know 
 Are those my mother used to sing 
 
 To me long years ago."
 
 "Sing oneof those," arough voice said, 
 "There's none but true men here; 
 
 Toev'ry mother's son of us 
 A mother's song is dear." 
 
 Then sweetly rose the singer's voice, 
 
 Amid unwonted calm: 
 "Am I a soldier of the cross 
 
 A follower of the lamb." 
 
 "And shall I fear to own his cause" 
 
 Every heart seemed stilled, 
 And hearts that never throbbed with fear, 
 
 With tender thoughts were tilled. 
 
 As the singer closed he said, 
 " Boys, we must face the foes" 
 
 Then thanking them for their invite 
 Upon his feet he rose. 
 
 " Sing us one more the young men said, 
 
 The singer hung his head, 
 Then glancing 'round with smiling lips, 
 
 "You'll join with me," he said. 
 
 We'll sing that old familiar air, 
 
 Sweet as the bugle call ; 
 "All hail the power of Jesus name, 
 
 Let Angels prostrate fall." 
 And wondrous was the old tune's spell, 
 
 As on the singer sang ; 
 Man after man fell into line, 
 And loud their voices rang. 
 
 One cried out "my mother sings 
 
 'Just as I am though tossed about;' 
 
 And the crowd picked up the anthem 
 "With many a conflict, many a doubt." 
 
 The next said "I seem to hear, 
 'It's rock of ages cleft for me,' 
 
 And the boys joined in with feeling 
 "Let me hide myself in thee." 
 
 Another said "I'm an outcast, 
 But when I've nowhere to roam, 
 
 I think of mother and the city 
 Which, long since she's made her home." 
 
 The next one said with tearful eyes 
 
 "My mother's in eternity, 
 Her song was 'O rock of ages 
 
 In thy cleft hidethou me.' 
 
 Hush'd are her lips, the song's ended, 
 
 The singer sleeps at last ; 
 While I sit here in deep wonder, 
 
 Arid think of days, long past.



 The room still echoes with music, 
 
 As singing soft and low, 
 Those grand sweet Christian carols, 
 
 They rock her too and fro. 
 
 Safe hidden in the "Rock of Ages" 
 
 She bade farewell to fear ; 
 Sure that her Lord'd always lead her 
 
 " She read her title clear." 
 
 Dear Saint in mansions long folded, 
 Safe in God's fostering love, 
 
 She joins in the blissful chorus, 
 Of those bright choirs above. 
 
 There she knows not pain, nor sorrow, 
 
 Safe beyond Jordan's roll 
 She lives with her blessed Jesus 
 
 The lover of her soul. 
 
 These boys are men, the stream still runs, 
 
 Those songs, they still are heard ; 
 And oh! the depth of every soul, 
 By those old hymns is stirred. 
 
 And up from many a bearded lip, 
 
 In whispers soft and low ; 
 Rises the songs the mother taught 
 
 The boy long years ago.



 
 
 Spotless. 
 
 (James 1:21) 
 
 Spotless, spotless, spotless, spotless, 
 At the sounding of that word, 
 
 All my soul turned up to heaven, 
 All my heart within me stirred. 
 
 Would that I could stand out spotless, 
 Lord, I know that Thou hast died, 
 
 Thou hast stood for ages spotless 
 Bidding men come and abide. 
 
 Lord, build up for me a ladder, 
 
 Reaching into perfect day, 
 That my hopes this word may grapple, 
 
 Showing me the right of way. 
 
 Blooming flowers all seem spotless, 
 On the spotless hill and dell, 
 
 Oh, how beautiful they all are, 
 And how fragrant too they smell. 
 
 The spotless birds, they spring along, 
 And chirp the song of jubilee; 
 
 I like to hear their spotless songs, 
 They make my melancholy flee.



 

 
 I wish that I could so be found, 
 While traveling life's brief way, 
 
 A spotless light to every one, 
 Where'er my footsteps stray. 
 
 Once a woman tried to show me 
 
 Something spotless, bright and new, 
 
 And she pick'd for illustration 
 Objects of the dirtiest hue. 
 
 "Lady" said I, eager, anxious, 
 
 "Why do you choose things so vile?" 
 
 "Just to show the cleansing process," 
 Said the lady with a smile. 
 
 Then she said " these dirty colors, 
 
 Hardest to remove of all, 
 Can be made by constant rubbing 
 
 White as snowflake in its fall." 
 
 These words struck my heart with power, 
 Made my soul within me throb, 
 
 "Dirty colors" "white as snowflake" 
 Can this woman? Cannot God? 
 
 Lord, I long to be made spotless, 
 What lack I to make me thine ? 
 
 Not in name but spotless truly, 
 Would I have thy ways, not mine.



 
 Is there anything not spotless 
 That I cherish more than Thee, 
 
 Loved ones, money, fame or talent? 
 Lord reveal them now to me. 
 
 Lord I think how Thou, though spotless, 
 Left thy Heavenly home on high, 
 
 Gave up all Thy spotless glory, 
 Came to earth for us, to die. 
 
 Jesus spoke from out His mansion : 
 "Thou, as I, can spotless be, 
 
 Vilest hearts have been made precious, 
 Simply trust and follow me." 
 
 Then I cried, "O Jesus take me, 
 Give me spotless, crimson wings, 
 
 Stamp my name upon thy roll book, 
 Take it to the spotless King." 
 
 
 Oh, what spotless, rapturous music ! 
 
 Heaven's gates seemed open wide, 
 And I stood there clear and spotless, 
 
 Near the Saviour's spotless side. 
 
 Spotless in God's spotless mansions! 
 
 Spotless in His spotless light ! 
 
 God's own love, majestic, spotless, 
 Made me crimson, spotless white!



 
 
 Motherly Emotions. 
 
 A mother* came passing by my door, 
 Her son was near by my side ; 
 
 "Howdy mama" was her son's adore, 
 "Howdy my son" she replied. 
 
 And as I gazed upon that mother, 
 The tears rushed to my eyes ; 
 
 My heart's affections began to swell, 
 My mind went to paradise. 
 
 While there it found that one model, 
 Who, sixteen long years ago, 
 
 By the blessed Saviour's command, 
 Left all earth's sorrows below. 
 
 " What word is sweeter than mother, 
 What place is dearer than home?" 
 
 These words are our associates 
 Wherever in life we roam. 
 
 Napoleon was a worldly man, 
 Yet one great thing he uttered, 
 
 When from conscience clear he said, 
 " What France most needs is mothers."


 Home, that sanctuary of love, 
 That stamps impressions for life, 
 
 Who's the heart of affection there? 
 It is the mother, the wife. 
 
 A mother's love! oh, no one knows 
 How much of life's feelings lies, 
 
 In those sweet words, the fears, the hopes, 
 And daily strengthening ties. 
 
 It wakes ere yet the infant dreams 
 
 It's earliest vital breath ; 
 And fails but when the mother's heart 
 
 Chills in the grasp of death. 
 
 Who knows the worth of mother? 
 
 Not those who see her daily; 
 But those who watch that vacant chair 
 
 Whose days are dark and dreary. 
 
 But when I am tossed and driven, 
 
 And feel like I'm all alone; 
 I think of mother and that city, 
 
 Which long since she's made her home. 
 
 Mother, while playing at thy knees, 
 
 Within my youthful heart; 
 There dwelt no secret consciousness, 
 
 That thou would e'er depart.
 
 Since thou hast gone I now have learned 
 
 To bow my stubborn will, 
 The power that calms the raging sea 
 
 My rebel heart has stilled. 
 
 So I can look with fearless eyes 
 
 On all these earthly fates, 
 But how coulds't thou afford to die 
 
 And leave me desolate ? 
 
 I should not weep for thee, dear one, 
 While with the saints thou art, 
 
 But how can I in coldness check 
 The burning tears that start? 
 
 My thoughts to thee must ever turn 
 
 As in my infant days, 
 While in my heart thine image shall 
 
 Lead me through life's rough ways. 
 
 Rest, dearest one, may angel host 
 Their vigils o'er thee keep, 
 
 How can I breath thy saintly name 
 And yet forbear to weep? 
 
 I stand heartbroken on dull earth 
 And gaze on the vacant skies, 
 
 Mother I cannot see thy face, 
 Dost thou hear thy son's cry?



 
 
 If in God's likeness 1 may awake 
 And shine in pure image by thee, 
 
 I'll be satisfied when I can break 
 The fetters of flesh and be free. 
 
 *Mrs. L. E. S. 
 




 Consolation. 
 
 Friends can't you tell me something? 
 
 I am weary and worn tonight. 
 The day has gone like a shadow 
 
 And only the evening is light. 
 
 Tell me about the Master, 
 
 Of the burdensome hills he trod, 
 
 When the tears and blood from his an 
 guish 
 Dropped down on Judea's sod. 
 
 Tell me about the Master, 
 
 Of the wrongs he freely forgave, 
 
 Of His love and His tender compassion, 
 Of His love that is mighty to save. 
 
 For my heart is restless and weary 
 Of the woes and temptations of life, 
 
 Of all the treacherous conflicts 
 
 Of falsehood, and malice, and strife.
  
 So tell me the sweet old story 
 
 That falls on each wound like a balm, 
 
 And my heart now bruised and broken, 
 Shall grow patient, strong, and calm. 
 
 Life What We Make It. 
 
 My life is a wearisome journey; 
 
 I'm sick with the times and the heat, 
 The rays of the sun beat upon me ; 
 
 Life's briars are wounding my feet. 
 
 There are so many hills leading upwards 
 It keeps me a longing for rest, 
 
 But he who appoints me my journey, 
 Knows just what is needful and best. 
 
 He loves me too well to forsake me, 
 Or give me one trial too much, 
 
 And the toils of my road will seem noth 
 ing 
 When e'er I receive his kind touch. 
 
 When the last feeble step has been taken 
 And the gates of the city appear, 
 
 The beautiful songs of the angels 
 Will float out on listening ears.



 
 
 Though now I am foot-sore and weary, 
 I'll rest when I'm safely at home, 
 
 I know I'll receive a glad welcome 
 For the Saviour Himself has said : * * come. ' ' 
 
 So when I am weary in body 
 And sinking in spirit, I say, 
 
 All the toils of the road will seem noth 
 ing 
 When I get to the end of the way. 
 
 Then I'll try to press hopefully on 
 ward, 
 Thinking often through each weary day, 
 
 The toils of the road will seem nothing 
 When I get to the end of my way. 
 
 
 
 
 
 Frances E. Harper. 
 Tribute. 
 
 Dear friend, to me one vision craved, 
 Alas ! has been denied ; 
 But thy strong words on page of book 
 My mind anew inspires, 
 Thy noble soul has lifted mine, 
 As rippling waves are drawn; 
 My spirit heard thy words sublime, 
 About the woman's dawn.
 
 Some mysteries of Afric's race, 
 Were left for thee to prove ; 
 Thy lucid voice, thy pen of grace, 
 Filled up with hope and love 
 Woke the dead pulse of joy supreme, 
 In our discouraged hearts, 
 Dispells the long delusive dream, 
 Makes new ambitions start. 
 
 
 The rebels who pronounce us brutes, 
 With conscience all at rest ; 
 Feel the great throb of Afric's truth, 
 That stirs from out thy breast ; 
 Maid of a higher, nobler cause, 
 Thou queen of ancient night; 
 Defender of the virtuous laws 
 Of our young woman's rights. 
 
 Thy name has spread like night's domain, 
 When all her glittering lamps 
 Illume the vast and level plains 
 Into the peaceful camps 
 Where martyrs keep the righteous post 
 Doubting our freedom yet, 
 And speed the faithfuf, onward host, 
 
 With eyes on justice set.
 They are not dead, those who have died, 
 Like holy angels come 
 To mortals in their faithful strides 
 For country, love and home; 
 Thou knowest the psalms by sages wrought, 
 Through shaky, mythic phrase; 
 Thou nobler psalms than they have taught, 
 
 Yet they have all the praise. 
 The time will come when this great state, 
 With conscience clear and true, 
 Will feel the strain of human fate, 
 Revealed to them by you ; 
 And from her high esteemed estate, 
 She will throw open wide 
 The portal of her royal gate. 
 
 So long to us denied. 
 Continue in thy noble work, 
 O, faithful sister great, 
 Until thy mind redeeming words, 
 Are spread in every state; 
 Bring womanhood her honors due, 
 Heal up these long disgraces ; 
 The time has come when woman must 
 March out and lead the races.



 
  
 Cain and Abel. 
 
 "To thine ownself be true, 
 
 And it must follow as the night the day, 
 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man.' 
 
 Cain was not true to Abel, 
 
 Neither true to himself, 
 Because Abel was true to both, 
 
 He put his brother to death. 
 
 I think how many a hundred 
 Of innocent Negro men. 
 Each trying to do like Abel, 
 
 Have died his death since then. 
 
 
 
 
 Voice From The South. 
 
 To Mrs. Annie Julia Cooper. 
 
 I read that book, "Voice from the South," 
 I read it o'er again ;
 I re-read, heart leaped up to mouth 
 At its triumphant aim. 
 
 It 'rouses those noble feelings, 
 Which partly are obscure ; 
 It makes us see as we are seen, 
 And fits us to endure.
 
 It pictures a steadfast purpose, 
 A brave and daring will, 
 A human-needed promise that 
 We hope the years will fill. 
 
 Noble woman, grandly gifted, 
 Sent to tell the world true facts; 
 Sure the race will be uplifted 
 By thy words, thy deeds, thy acts. 
 
 Thy dauntless words are great and bold, 
 At times they seem to be 
 Like John Brown's in dark slavery's days, 
 While battling for the free. 
 
 Earth's grandest hearts uplift to thee, 
 They feel thy spreading fame ; 
 And children that are yet to be 
 Will "hallowed be thy name." 
 
 From thy book, those worthy pages, 
 All our anxious hearts entreat; 
 All true trophies of the ages, 
 Are enshrined at thy dear feet. 
 
 Oh! wished for, hoped for, happy time, 
 When I can have the grace, 
 To grasp thy hand, and more sublime, 
 Upon thy statue gaze.
 
 When e'er I 'tempt to write of thee, 
 Love takes my thoughts away ; 
 Thy dazzling fame makes all that flee, 
 Which most I long to say. 
 
 If thou hadst hearing in thy heart, 
 To know how others beat; 
 Then thoushouldst walk where'er thou art, 
 Where throbbing millions greet. 
 
 O ye whose noble, lucid pen, 
 Forever filled with ink; 
 To touch the hearts and minds of men, 
 And make whole nations think. 
 
 It may be that in this cold world, 
 You will be ostracised 
 For noble truths which you have hurled 
 At those who right despise. 
 
 But Christ was ostracised by men, 
 He conquered every one ; 
 Brave Luther faced the Papal den, 
 And he the victory won. 
 
 So while within this vale of tears, 
 Where sins and woes are rife ; 
 words will prove, in coming years, 
 The gift of mortal life. 

 Since we are scattered as a race, 
 And thou hast power to write; 
 While God prolongs thy days of grace, 
 Cry to the race "unite." 
 
 Thou hast been writing, noble one, 
 Thou dost not write in vain ; 
 Thy words, methink, are pressing on, 
 They shall be entertained. 
 
 Thy writing has a dwelling place, 
 Above this lynching ken; 
 We hope thy spirit will never trace 
 Such wicked haunts of men. 
 
 In some far off diviner land, 
 There stands a giant Mast ; 
 It waves to you a cheering hand, 
 From heroes of the past. 
 
 Thy 'lectric voice, whose strong control, 
 As with an angel's breath 
 Can stir the fountain of the soul, 
 And cheer the long bereft. 
 
 Write on, and may thy words still strike 
 The conscience of the nation ; 
 And show that all men are alike, 
 And have been since creation.



 
  
 Bishop Daniel A. Payne. 
 
 (Deceased). 
 
 He has gone forth in the light of light, 
 Out of the long watch and the heavy night, 
 Out of the life that was so hard to bear, 
 Crowded by sorrow and perplexed by care. 
 
 Love was the life which pulsed his being 
 
 through, 
 
 No task too hard, if set by love to do, 
 No pain too sharp, if love called to endure, 
 No weariness he knew if love was true. 
 
 Heaven has received him as a welcome guest, 
 Balming earth's tie with compensating rest, 
 Healing earth's grievous wound with sure 
 
 content, 
 The sense of home after long banishment. 
 
 But more to him than smile of vanished kin, 
 Or hands outstreched to greet and draw him in, 
 
 Or "bonded walls" of amethyst unpriced 
 Is the clear vision of the face of Christ. 
 
 The face divine, which, in his boyhood days, 
 Seeing he loved and never looked away, 
 Which, like a star in the dim firmament, 
 Guided his steps and moved where' er he went .

 Out of the life that was not always sweet, 
 Out of the puzzle and the day's defeat, 
 Out of earth's hindering and alien zone, 
 The Lord of love has led him to his own. 




 
 Douglass Dead? 
 
 Across the nation's broad domain, 
 On every hill, and every plain, 
 Peals out the muffled, sad refrain, 
 That Douglass is dead. 
 
 O no, not dead ! for every heart 
 In every state must surely start 
 As freedom's great, uprisi ig mart, 
 If Douglass is deud ! 
 
 And far across the deep blue sea, 
 Those nations that love liberty, 
 Their minds will be a mournful lea, 
 For Douglass' death. 
 
 Once freedom's great, uprising host, 
 From Maine to California's coast, 
 Of this great man could truly boast, 
 And now he's dead!
   
 In every heart of all the race, 
 He'll ever have a sacred place, 
 His name can never be erased, 
 He is not dead ! 
 
 He's with Lincoln, John Brown, Grant, 
 With Bishop Payne and Price he chants, 
 With such surrounding host we can't 
 Say he is dead ! 
 
 
 
 The Easter Man. 
 
 So crushed by sinful oppression. 
 Through the ages long and drear, 
 
 Men began to doubt and question, 
 Whether Shiloh would appear. 
 
 The Jewish doctors pondered, 
 And Gentile sages dreamed, 
 
 While on their weary vision 
 No assuring light yet gleamed. 
 
 But while time's dial was still moving:, 
 
 God, in a mysterious way, 
 Let man go in his wonder, 
 
 He knew thedimenand the day.

 And the Watchman he stood mourning, 
 Over Judah's seer that day ; 
 
 As up on Bethlehem's hillside, 
 They wound their weary way. 
 
 And the watchman cried "O Israel, 
 
 How long are we to stand, 
 Under the great oppressor's yoke, 
 
 To be moved by Shiloh's hand?" 
 
 When heaven and earth were silent, 
 When the Lord's will would be done, 
 
 The cry went from out Bethlehem, 
 "A man child there is born." 
 
 Then burst the rapturous anthem ; 
 
 " Glory to God be given, 
 Good will among the sons of Men 
 
 Peace on earth and in heaven." 
 
 While there in his manger cradle, 
 The unconscious monarch lay, 
 
 The babe of Bethlehem now born, 
 To have universal sway. 
 
 The human sea became restless, 
 
 Earth's kingdoms began to shake, 
 And the universal cry was 
 > ,'*^*er,inuw like that inan spake."
  
 When He began his active work, 
 For three long toilsome years, 
 
 He climbed degradation's mountain, 
 Wading through heart-aches and tears . 
 
 But Jesus buried these sorrows, 
 Knowing the world had its share; 
 
 He opened a crystal fountain, 
 To wash away sinful snares. 
 
 The more he spread his mission, 
 The more he became despised, 
 
 He forgave men this wickedness, 
 And yet he was crucified. 
 
 Nineteen centuries have passed and gone, 
 Since " it is finished" was cried, 
 
 Every day during that time, 
 The Savior's been crucified. 
 
 If we ask ourselves the question, 
 " Why crucify one so dear?" 
 
 Our hearts will respond full sadly, 
 44 The answer is not here." 
 
 The still, small voice from Calvary 
 Cries " I did all this for thee," 
 
 And from the ear of faith we hear, 
 44 What art thou doing: for me-"

 
 Silence reigned in Jerusalem, 
 Men became bothered in mind, 
 
 Questions were asked about Jesus, 
 To answer wise men declined. 
 
 On that lovely Easter morning, 
 Mary and others came near, 
 
 The angel solved the mystery, 
 " He's risen, He is not here." 
 
 He spent forty days sojourning, 
 To many he made himself known, 
 
 He told of a city called Heaven, 
 
 Entreated them to make it their home. 
 
 He melted down satan's mansions, 
 He made intercession for man, 
 
 He gave his peace to the nations, 
 And gave the disciples command. 
 
 And then along the silent path, 
 
 By viewless spirits trod, 
 He left the blights of this sad earth, 
 
 And went to dwell with God. 
 
 Gates of Heaven all stood ajar, 
 Bells of Heaven were ringing, 
 
 Angels stood around the gate, 
 Waiting, watching, singing.



 
  
 And as the Savior entered in, 
 They did not close the view, 
 
 But left the gate standing ajar 
 That we might enter too. 
 
 Heaven's orchestra uttered aloud, 
 "Worthy the Lamb that was slain 
 
 To receive honor, glory, power, 
 Blessings, world without end." 
 
 For every thorn that gave a wound, 
 A rose in Heaven was given, 
 
 And joy. that there no roses found 
 With rosy wreaths were riven. 
 
 In paradise where breezes blow, 
 To cool the heart's hot fever, 
 
 The pangs and pain He felt below, 
 Were waft away forever. 
 
 To look at Thee, O Lord, as Thou art, 
 From this mortal perishing clay, 
 
 The spirit immortal in peace would de 
 part, 
 And joyous mount up her bright way.
 
 I know our stained tablets must first be 
 
 washed white, 
 
 To let Thy bright features be drawn. 
 We know we must suffer the darkness of 
 
 night, 
 To welcome the coming of dawn. 
 
 But we shall be satisfied when we can 
 cast 
 
 The shadow of nature all by, 
 When the cold, heavy world from our 
 vision has passed 
 
 To let the soul open her eye. 
 We come together in Easter service, 
 
 To sing praises unto His name. 
 Let every day be Easter in which 
 
 W r e will sing His praises the same. 
 



 Man's Imperfections. 
 
 O life why so imperfect? 
 
 And life cried in elation, 
 Don't fault my God nor me correct, 
 
 Hut man and his ovation.
  
 The little bird enjoys his life, 
 The ant improves his time; 
 
 Its only man's abusive strife, 
 That wrecks this holy clime. 
 
 The rippling stream goes swiftly by, 
 The plants grow undistubed; 
 
 And only man fills life with sighs, 
 And makes crime reign superb. 
 
 The sun and moon and stars are bright. 
 
 This earth's a paradise; 
 But man stands in his own sunlight, 
 
 As imperfection's vice. 
 



 My Sweetheart. 
 
 I went to bed the other night, 
 My sleep was sweet in part ; 
 
 I dreamed I saw a lovely sight, 
 It was my dear sweetheart. 
 
 She sat in the window watching, 
 As I wjnt down the street; 
 
 I threw a kiss back to her, 
 
 Her face seem' d blossom sweet.
 
 My sweetheart's image was with me, 
 
 Whichever way I went, 
 It banished all temptations, 
 
 And gave me good intent. 
 
 When the world seems full of trouble, 
 
 When things seem to go wrong: 
 
 My sweetheart's image is with me, 
 
 And makes me brave and strong. 
 
 I return 'd by early twilight, 
 And as I latched the gate ; 
 
 I saw from the shaded window, 
 My sweetheart still did wait. 
 
 I hastened toward the window, 
 I saw my sweetheart's eyes 
 
 Sparkle with a smiling welcome, 
 As the stars up in the skies. 
 
 "Finback again, dear sweetheart," 
 I said, and stoop'd to kiss 
 
 My sweetheart' s face that was lifted, 
 It seem'd that all was bliss. 
 
 You all have sweethearts like this one. 
 
 Babies, sisters and brothers ; 
 This sweetheart gives us lots of fun, 
 
 My sweetheart was my mother.



 
  
 What do you think of my sweetheart? 
 
 I shall not go any further ; 
 Can you blame a boy my size because 
 
 He's dead in love with mother? 
 
 The angel who unfetter'd St. Peter, 
 When bound in Jerusalem's jail ; 
 
 Is no greater than the angel Lincoln 
 Who heeded the Negro's wail. 
 And never in all ages, 
 
 Since John on Patnius wrote; 
 Have words been put on pages 
 
 As great as Lincoln spoke. 
 
 
 
 Lincoln's Call. 
 
 You know 'twas eighteen sixty-one, 
 The civil war had just begun, 
 The ship of state was at the place, 
 To picture up the South's disgrace; 
 And Lincoln quickly saw the point, 
 Where he could knock things out of joint ; 
 And all the sight which he had seen, 
 Before his mind began to gleam. 
 He thought of countless human slaves, 
 Murdered, buried without a grave; 
 He thought of the wicked overseer, 
 Whose cruelty could have no peer; 
 He thought of the master's snarling cry 
 "That Negro's worthless, let him die." 
 Rethought of the Southern auction block, 
 Where human beings sold as stock; 
 He thought of mother's wailing cry, 
 When wicked men her child would buy ; 
 He thought how cruel they could be,
 To counteract the mother's plea; 
 He thought how men were sold like mules, 
 And left their wives with wicked fools; 
 He thought of Christian mother's weep, 
 To see her child drove off like sheep ; 
 He thought of mother's vain distress, 
 To have a babe sold from her breast ; 
 And worst of all since God's creation, 
 He thought of that abomination 
 Amalgamation of the races, 
 On terms that give us blushing faces ; 
 He thought of masters who had slaves, 
 Whose virtue they would often crave ; 
 And she, no matter how she feel, 
 To master's wicked lust must yield; 
 These sights as dark as dark midnight, 
 Made angels shudder in their flight; 
 The goddess of the angry deep, 
 These horrors made her conscience weep; 
 The gladiator drop'd his sword, 
 At sight of Southern festive boards. 
 Diana said with heart aglow, 
 Such sights have never reign'd before; 
 These things weighed Lincoln's heart with  grief, 
 And when the nation made him chief

 He gave a long, tremendous call, 
 From out the nation's senate hall, 
 And all the North heard his appeal, 
 And marched out on ihe battle field; 
 The Pilgrim Fathers, dead and gone, 
 Pushed brave New England in the throng, 
 Good William Perm said from his grave: 
 " My Quakers join the Lincoln wave." 
 The father of the country said 
 "March en, it is the rightful tread !" 
 The heroes of Thermopylae 
 Heard Lincoln's call for liberty, 
 And cried from out their distant graves, 
 "If you must die, men's freedom save." 
 Crispus Attucks, whose blood ran down, 
 When Washington was in renown, 
 His blood cried out "if you'd be free, 
 All strike at once for liberty !" 
 Sojourner Truth, her voice was heard, 
 *' March on !" was the commanding word, 
 Nat Turner screamed out from the sod; 
 ** I would thou precious, alhvise God, 
 Had spared my life upon the land 
 To follow Lincoln's brave command, 
 Then I could quickly do my part, 
 For poor down-trodden, human hearts,

 I'd help to strike that mighty blow, 
 To let my bondaged people go ! " 
 John Brown's bleeding body cried: 
 "This is the cause for which I died!" 
 Frederick Douglass, grand old man, 
 Who aided John Brown in his plans, 
 Who stood with Lincoln and conversed, 
 Was ready now to stand the worst. 
 He used his voice, his pen, his mind, 
 And men who heard him fell in line. 
 These voices echoed Lincoln's sound. 
 And stirred the people all around ; 
 From Maine to California's coast, 
 Rose freedom's great advancing host. 
 Men speaking in the senate hall, 
 Responded to the noble call ; 
 The Gov'nors left the state affairs, 
 The writer left his easy chair, 
 The lawyer quit the city bar, 
 And left his office door ajar; 
 The bus' ness man went out his store, 
 Perhaps to enter there no more ; 
 The teacher left his tutorship, 
 And gave his gun a lasting grip. 
 The student left his study desk, 
 And marched with teacher breast abreast,

 The hunter left the stag at bay, 
 For Lincoln's call he must obey; 
 "The plow was in the furrow staid, 
 The herds without a keeper stray'd," 
 The fish' man left his pole and line, 
 The blacksmith drop'd his red hot iron, 
 The artist let go paint and brush, 
 And to the army made a rush. 
 Husbands kissed their wives good-bye, 
 Left the children, went to die; 
 Mothers told sons to heroes be, 
 In the cause of liberty; 
 The young man in the prime of life, 
 Left his newly wedded wife; 
 The lover left his loved one's side 
 Whom he had vowed to make his bride, 
 He loved his girl with all his heart, 
 But country's love was now his part; 
 Each son and father rushed to arms, 
 At Lincoln's signals of alarm. 
 The war began, brave Lincoln stood, 
 As pilot in the human flood ; 
 Again he made a long appeal, 
 More men were needed in the field. 
 His voice was heard all o'er the land, 
 A million men obeyed command.
  
 At Gettysburg, brave Lincoln stood, 
 And he was in a better mood ; 
 He saw the cause for which he fought, 
 Was plain before the people brought; 
 And on that bloody battlefield, 
 The enemies began to yield ; 
 And Lincoln, with his God push'd pen, 
 Wrote these words on the hearts of men : 
 "All human beings claimed as slaves 
 Are placed upon great freedom's wave." 
 And angels echoed around the throne ; 
 "Rejoice thy freedom is thy own !" 
 The Negro left his master's farm, 
 For he had heard the last alarm, 
 But half in doubt and half in stress, 
 He wondered which would be the best 
 "If massa ketch me gwine away, 
 He'll Mil dis n----- shur as day ; 
 But whats de use to stay back herr, 
 He's killing n------ ebry yerr, 
 Boss Lincoln says dat I am free,  
 I'll strike a blow for liberty!" 
 He marched out like a soldier man, 
 And joined the host of freedom's van. 
 The war moved on for two more years, 
 And brave men fought without a fear,

 Till Sherman's host had reached the sea, 
 And Grant had captured noble Lee, 
 Then men laid down their arms of yore, 
 And peace did reign from shore to shore, 
 Now Lincoln's work was bravely done, 
 The confidence of Men he'd won, 
 His enemies he'd conquered well, 
 And they before him prostrate fell. 
 He'd kept the faith, he'd fought his fight, 
 And in the stillness of the night 
 When he least look'd for any strife, 
 A demon struck him for his life. 
 He fell a corpse to mortal man, 
 In this down trodden, sinful land; 
 His soul had heard the angel's cry; 
 "Thy work's complete, thy home's on high," 
 
 So when the general roll is called, 
 Including, Wickliffe. Luther, Paul ; 
 Men who have died to set men free, 
 Lincoln's name on the list will be. 
 And men who dwell upon the earth, 
 Will yet concede to Lincoln's worth, 
 And burn his birthday in the minds, 
 Of children 'till the end of time. 
 As long as there remains a trace 
 Of Afric blood in mortal face, 
 So long will Lincoln honored be, 
 His virtues suns: from sea to sea. 
 
 
 
 
 Hurrah for McKinley! 
 
 Hurrah for McKinley ! 
 Hurrah for Hobart ! 
 And the St. Louis convention 
 
 That didn't mind revolts, 
 We have rallied round the flag boys, 
 
 Rallied once again, 
 Hear the cry of freedom and McKinley . 
 
 Hurrah for New England ! 
 
 Hurrah for Illinois ! 
 New York, Pennsylvania, 
 
 And all the other boys 
 Who have rallied, etc. 
 
 Hurrah for sound nionej ! 
 
 Hurrah for protection 
 That sends free silver 
 
 Where there'll be no resurrection, 
 We will rally, etc.


 Hurrah for the nation ! 
 
 How it rings from sea to sea, 
 That McKinley is elected 
 
 Which insures prosperity. 
 We have rallied, etc. 
 
 Hurrah ! how McKinley 
 
 Broke the Mason-Dixon line, 
 
 Boys, the solid South is broken, 
 And shall be till end of time. 
 
 We have rallied, etc. 
 
 Hurrah for McKinley I 
 
 Who's in Abe Lincoln's track, 
 Who believed that a gentleman, 
 
 Can be either white or black. 
 Let us rally, etc. 
 
 Hurrah for McKinley ! 
 
 Who called upon his state, 
 To help, keep a Negro 
 
 From the dreadful lynching fate. 
 Negroes rally, etc. 
 
 Hurrah for McKinley ! 
 
 Who said he'd have no wine, 
 And those at the inaugural 
 
 To drink had to decline, 
 Temperance rally, etc.



 
  
 The Call All Must Obey. 
 
 A voice whispered to an infant, 
 Sitting on its mother's knees, 
 "Leave that place for a moment, 
 I want you to go with me," 
 " How can I leave my mamma's lap, 
 And do without her sweet smiles, 
 How can 1 live without her aid ?' ' 
 Replied the innocent child. 
 
 The same voice whispered to a child, 
 Who knew not the right from wrong, 
 " Comechild, leave your play forawhile, 
 And join this mighty throng," 
 The child replied in earnest tones, 
 " I cannot go with you now 
 You see what I have here to do, 
 My play house is all torn down." 
 
 " Come," said the stern voice to a youth, 
 
 While plodding along his way, 
 
 And many youths were with him there, 
 
 All cheerful and full of play . 
 
 " How can I come," replied the youth, 
 
 " I'm hastening on to school, 
 
 A.nd if I'm late," my mother says, 
 
 "Its against the teacher's rule."


 
 "Come," the voice said to a maid, 
 Just in her twentieth year, 
 While men were passing too and fro, 
 Some in hope and some in fear; 
 "How can I come," replied the maid, 
 "While all of life's temptations 
 Surround my head, and I must be 
 A factor to the nation." 
 
 The voice approached a bright young man 
 
 Just entering the prime of life, 
 
 " Come, "said the voice, theyoungman 
 
 stopped, 
 
 As if in a human strife. 
 " How can I come? My days are brief, 
 The responsibility 
 That rests upon my shoulders, 
 Is spread from sea to sea." 
 
 The voice then sought a poet's abode, 
 
 Who was seeking after a rhyme, 
 
 And the poet had an answer 
 
 Both elusive and sublime. 
 
 " How can you ask for me to come, 
 
 Leave me to myself I pray, 
 
 For the verse which I am writing 
 
 The hearts of men will sway."



 
  
 "Come," said the voice to a songster 
 As she raised her alto voice, 
 And the music sent forth by her, 
 Made the hearts of men rejoice. 
 "How can I come," said the songster, 
 "This world is sinking in sin, 
 And I am to sing God's mercies 
 Into the hearts of men." 
 
 "Come," said the voice to a statesman, 
 
 While speaking in the senate hall, 
 
 And his voice aroused the senate 
 
 Like troops at a bugle call. 
 
 "How can I come," said the statesman, 
 
 While our dear ship of state, 
 
 Is hanging, trembling, weakening, 
 
 At the sight of future fate?" 
 
 "Come," said the voice to a mother, 
 
 W T ith her children at her side, 
 
 And she made the home a haven, 
 
 For her husband to abide. 
 
 "Oh, I can't come," the mother said, 
 
 " [ pray you let me stay, 
 
 For how can I leave my darlings 
 
 To wander from me astray?"


 
 The voice sent out no more appeals, 
 
 The baby left its mother, 
 
 The child with a torn down play house 
 
 Didn't stop to build another; 
 
 Theyouth, returning home from school, 
 
 Responded to the call, 
 
 And the maiden with her beauty 
 
 Had to enter in the thrall. 
 
 And the young man meditated, 
 For he was just in his prime, 
 But he joined the great procession 
 When the voice called, it was time; 
 And the poet, with his meekness, 
 Had to (juit his composition ; 
 For the voice had called him hither, 
 It was due a recognition. 
 
 The songster's voice was heard no more, 
 The world still had its sins, 
 The statesman left the senate floor, 
 And was heard no more by men ; 
 And the mother left her children, 
 And they cried with sobbing breath. 
 But the voice which spoke men must 
 
 obey, 
 It was the voice of death.



 
  

 Harriet Beecher Stowe's Works. 
 "Uncle Tom's Cabin." 
 
 That grand and noble woman dear, 
 Called Harriet Beecher Stowe, 
 The book she wrote without a fear 
 Drove slavery from our shore. 
 To know her works, to feel her worth, 
 Go read that noble book 
 And see what dauntless words she wrote, 
 What fearful risks she took. 
 
 It struck a blow to slavery's tree, 
 That burned its very life; 
 It scorched the undergrowth around, 
 And left it in a strife ; 
 It parched the branches to a crisp, 
 Withered the leaves in twain, 
 It drove the sap into the ground 
 To never rise again. 
 
 Dark slavery rested on the base, 
 That Africans were brutes, 
 That they should be a white man's slave 
 Or dwell in destitute ; 
 It said his sensibility 
 Was not of human kind, 
 And if he loved, ''twas not the love 
 Which with the heart combines.
 
 And hence the children could be sold, 
 Husband and wife untied, 
 And with a mind all full of glee, 
 In distant parts abide ; 
 No matter what the master did 
 To slaves w r ho were akin, 
 'Twas just the same as with a mule, 
 The master didn't sin. 
 
 These doctrines were supported by 
 Religion, law and science, 
 The preacher who preached otherwise, 
 Was held up in defiance; 
 The surgeon taught that Negro flesh 
 Under the whip and knife, 
 Was not affected like white men, 
 Hence 'twas not human strife. 
 
 Politicians said that it was 
 Fixed as the lasting hills, 
 And God considered it as pure 
 As nature's rippling rills ; 
 The statesman, judge and governor 
 Said that it was a rule,
 The Negro slave should have the same 
 As oxen, horse and mule.
 
 Men divine, wrote book upon book, 
 Forcing restitution, 
 And tried to prove that slavery was 
 A God sent institution. 
 To speak, to write, to think against 
 This inhumanity, 
 Was nothing but a case of what 
 Was called insanity. 
 
 It was at such a time as this 
 That Harriet Beecher Stowe, 
 Called "Uncle Tom" upon the scene, 
 And made him walk before 
 The gaze of all the countries 'round, 
 She made him speak and cry, 
 In twenty different languages 
 She made him pray and sigh. 
 
 She then asked all the world who heard 
 His wild distressing prayer, 
 If 'twas not likely that a heart 
 Humane is stationed there; 
 She brought forth George and showed his grand 
 Affections for his wife, 
 His love for liberty, and how 
 He fought the slavish strife.
 
 She brought Haley, the Negro trader, 
 Who had no human heart, 
 Who stole the virtue of his slaves, 
 And then the lash impart; 
 Who took a newly wedded wife 
 Before her husband's gaze, 
 Could the devil have seen all this, 
 He would have stood amazed. 
 
 She then showed forth the Christian heart 
 Of Mister Shelby's wife, 
 Who sympathized with all the slaves 
 In their discouraged strife ; 
 Who wept when she first heard the news 
 From her dear husband bold, 
 When she asked where was Uncle Tom, 
 He said "the brute is sold." 
 
 These things and hundreds, thousands more,  
 This noble book had shown, 
 And there stood Harriet Beecher Stowe, 
 Between pulpit and throne; 
 She stood nearer the Throne of God, 
 Than all false priests before, 
 And turned the search light on to show 
 The heartache and the woe.

 She wrote brave words and spead them, 
 Upon the human breeze, 
 That made pro-slav'ry clergymen, 
 Draw in their breath and sneeze; 
 Her shafts were sent hilt deep into 
 The tender, human heart, 
 Just like the shepherd boy who smote 
 The giant with his dart. 
 
 This book had made the world grow mad, 
 With slavery and its crime, 
 Before the bloody battlefield, 
 With marching tread did chime; 
 Before John Brown had died to save, 
 Before great Lincoln's call, 
 Before brave Sherman reached the sea, 
 Before Grant captured all. 
 
 She called from out its slumb'ring tomb, 
 Affections of the soul, 
 She armed them with eternal light, 
 And sent them forth so bold 
 Against the greed, the gain, the lust, 
 That these two forces fought, 
 Like Wolfe and Montcalm on the plain, 
 Till right had error wrought.
 
 
 
 Harriet Beecher Stowe's Monument. 
 
 She has builded a human monument 
 The walls of which will stand, 
 Long after she's departed from 
 The dwellers in the land, 
 Long after buildings have crumbled, 
 That are planted on the sand. 
 
 She decided to build for others, 
 And the building sheltered her not, 
 And some who dwell within there, 
 Through all time shall know her not, 
 And beneath the roof of the building 
 She'll have no lot or part. 
 
 And yet when the days shall have ended, 
 And beneath the roof tree's shade, 
 The children and grand children, 
 In childish ways have played, 
 And passed from under the building, 
 And vanished into the shade; 
 
 Some dweller beneath the building, 
 Thinking of when it was new, 
 May say as his heart turns backward, 
 Keeping his a;e in view, 
 The woman who built this building, 
 Builded better than she knew.

 And she, though she has passed onward, 
 Hearing the Master's call, 
 May say, though it may not matter 
 To her what the building befall, 
 That it's better to build for others, 
 Than to have no building at all. 
 
 
 
 Sonnet, October. 
 
 Here in sweet Nature's lonely gale, 
 
 The leaves are gone ; 
 The autumnal woods, all 'round our vale, 
 
 Have glory on. 
 
 I roam these woods that nature crowns 
 
 With splendor's glow; 
 Where the company of trees look down 
 
 On fields below. 
 
 This month is the gloomiest and saddest 
 
 Of all the year ; 
 For in it nature's summer gladness 
 
 All disappear. 
 
 Nature all around serene elates 
 
 Us from the sod ; 
 And points the heart and mind of man, 
 
 Towards the throne of God.




 
 Maceo Cuba's Liberator. 
 
 While Washington at Valley Forge, 
 Endured the winter's pest; 
 And while he was taking Yorktown 
 Dear Cuba was oppressed.

 When England tried the second time, 
 To rule this country great; 
 Brave Cuba, although in her prime, 
 Had not a ship of state. 
 
 When Winfield Scott took Mexico, 
 And captured Vera Cruz, 
 Brave Cuba and young Maceo 
 Were punished and abused. 
 
 When John Brown died that we might live, 
 When Lincoln called for men ; 
 Brave Cuba was surrounded with 
 The untold Spanish sins. 
 
 When Grant and Meade fought for dear  life, 
 When Lincoln said "you're free," 
 Brave Cuba, under Spanish strife. 
 Said "give me liberty?" 
 
 Thus time moved on, God was invoked, 
 And year succeeded year ; 
 Brave Cuba fought sometime with hope, 
 And sometime full of fear.
 
 But God who's always here with men, 
 Had Him a man in store; 
 And at the heights of Spanish sins, 
 He called forth Maceo. 
 
 When Maceo with courage strong 
 Took charge of battle fields ; 
 Like withered leaves in wintry storms, 
 The enemies did yield. 
 
 He gave this dauntless, brave command, 
 "We must have liberty 
 And in the name of God and man, 
 Our Cuba must be free!" 
 
 At this appeal the Island shook, 
 The natives said they would ; 
 And Maceo with anxious looks, 
 As firm as fossils stood. 
 
 The natives all were 'lectrified, 
 At sight of Maceo's form; 
 And they would stand and do or die, 
 At Maceo's alarm. 
 
 The Spaniards, anxious to succeed, 
 Discarded warring rules; 
 Resorted to the foulest deeds, 
 Of all the crim'nal schools.
  
 They used man's wicked, cunning ways, 
 They gave him friend's salute; 
 They falsified to ambush him, 
 They took his life like brutes. 
 
 But e'er he died he told his men, 
 That Cuba must be free ; 
 The death he died has given them 
 The price of liberty. 
 
 Arnold became his country's foe, 
 Judas betrayed his Christ; 
 The Spaniards entrapped Maceo 
 At manhood's sacrifice. 
 
 They crucified the Son of man. 
 His cause still moves the world; 
 They burned John Huss and yet he stands, 
 Before us as a pearl. 
 
 They killed good Abr'am Lincoln, 
 The cause for which he died 
 Still moves the world, still cheers men's hearts, 
 With men he still abides. 

 They killed the noble Maceo, 
 The world's in sympathy; 
 It says that foul yet implores 
 That Cuba must be free.

 The God of Israel's Maceo, 
 Of Lincoln's liberty. 
 Has written "let my people go," 
 Dear Cuba shall be free. 
 
 Dear Cuba, for a host of years, 
 "Queen of the Antilles," 
 Thy Maceo without a fear, 
 Has died to set thee free. 
 



 Y. M. C. A. Founder. 
 SirGeo. Williams. 
 
 Sir George Williams, noble man, 
 Half 'cent'ry 've passed away, 
 Since thou first didst raise thy hand 
 To start the Y. M. C. A. 
 
 One little room marked the spot, 
 A few common chairs therein ; 
 And now all o'er the universe, 
 Its sifting the souls of men. 
 
 A few young men, only a few, 
 Paid any heed to thee, 
 Today thou'rt heard in all the lands, 
 Thou'rt spread from sea to sea.



 
  
 I think how many a thousand, 
 Of reckless, wayward men, 
 Have caught the inspiration, 
 And moved off from their sins. 
 
 I think of countless mothers, 
 Whose hearts have leaped with joy, 
 Because this, thy noble work, 
 Has saved their reckless boy. 
 
 I think of unborn millions, 
 Who yet must take the stage, 
 W T ho, only through this noble work 
 Can face the future age. 
 
 "Forever and forever, 
 As long as life has woes," 
 Thy name shall be re-echoed 
 On time's terrestrial shores. 
 
 If only I might see thee, 
 
 To gaze upon thy face, 
 
 To grasp thy hand, to hear thee speak, 
 
 Then I could be embraced. 
 
 I think I could go forward, 
 With brave and joyful heart, 
 Though every step should pierce me, 
 With untold fiery dart.


 
 But I must be contented, 
 With thy likeness and thy name, 
 For countless millions now rejoice, 
 Upon thy spreading fame. 
 
 And I am left to wonder, such 
 That I may stretch my hand, 
 To some still wearier traveler 
 In this same shadow land. 
 
 I gaze upon thy likeness, 
 As young men's earthly sage, 
 Thv work is old and thriving, 
 
 y O ' 
 
 But thou show'st not thy age.. 
 
 Dear sir, thou art not old, 
 Though half a century now, 
 May write its ragged wrinkles, 
 Up and down thy brow. 
 
 And even sorrow may with 
 A shroud thy heart enfold, 
 Thou art not now, and no, 
 Thou never will be old. 
 
 Best Thing in the World. 
 
 What is the best thing in the world? 
 This question to a crowd was hurled.



 
  
 A preacher said "that grand old Book 
 Which beats all men e'er undertook." 
 
 The monk, he said, "the best of all, 
 Is time alone within my walls.*' 
 
 The sage, he whispered in a chime, 
 "The best is the right use of time." 
 
 The fool and idler both did sing, 
 "Pleasure is the best of things." 
 
 Then the soldier cried aloud, "fame," 
 Spoke the statesman, "mine is the same." 
 
 Then a maid told her selection, 
 "Why of course its my complexion." 
 
 Said a young man, "there are two things, 
 A woman's beauty, and how she sings." 
 
 A mother, playing with some curls, 
 Said that "the best thing in the world; 
 
 Is this darling here in my arms, 
 Which we and angels hold as charms." 
 
 Then the wee baby gave its choice, 
 And it seemed like an angel's voice; 
 
 "The bes ting dat eber was or is, 
 Is when my mama dives me a tiss."

 
 Conscience whispers and this is heard, 
 "Kindness, kindness, that is the word." 
 


 From Degradation Through Supplication to Education, 
 
 The Negro. 
 
 I was once far from civilization, 
 As vile as a Negro could be ; 
 I wondered if all the creation, 
 Could save a poor Negro like me. 
 
 I wandered on in the darkness, 
 Not a ray of light could I see; 
 And it filled my heart with sadness, 
 No hope for a Negro like me. 
 
 But by the wondrous work of God, 
 The world's second Moses came; 
 And through the sea of civil strife, 
 Brought liberty instead of shame. 
 
 From then I started out in life, 
 To make a race pride mark ; 
 But prejudice from my enemies, 
 Kept holding me in the dark.



 
  
 And yet within that self same race, 
 There are some valiant men ; 
 Who gave both their time and means, 
 To remove this dreadful sin. 
 
 My enemies both reared and kicked, 
 I could only wait and trust ; 
 But good men defended my cause, 
 Like Doctors Hartzell and Rust. 
 
 "Shall the Negro be educated?" 
 Is being discussed by some; 
 But while they are discussing, 
 The good work's being done. 
 
 No longer in darkness I wander, 
 Education is shining on me; 
 And unto my brothers I'm trying, 
 To give an education free. 
 
 Dear Lord, I'll e'er give thanks to Thee, 
 For Thy unspeakable gift, 
 In bringing me out of darkness, 
 And allowing a chance to lift. 
 
 And with my thanks I ask Thy aid, 
 For those in degradation, 
 That they may share e'en with me, 
 In Christian education.




 The Model Girl. 
 
 ToS 
 
 A model girl, pure from her birth, 
 No one can estimate her worth, 
 And on this dark and sinful earth 
 She's needed. 
 
 She goes to church and Sunday school, 
 The Bible is her vestibule, 
 And fam'lv prayers, her mother's rule 
 She loves them. 
 
 She always tries to do the right, 
 And if you try to blur and blight, 
 She'll hit you with the Christian light 
 She's candid. 
 
 Sometimes, before she thinks, she speaks. 
 You know in this a woman's weak, 
 Hut if you will explain the freak 
 She'll listen. 
 
 And if she sees immoral trash, 
 She treats it very cool and rash, 
 And all her soul seems in a flash 
 She shuns it.



 
  
 She knows the evils of the land, 
 She knows the wicked ways of man, 
 She takes a high and lofty stand 
 She dreads them. 
 
 She knows if woman stands aloft, 
 The wicked men will scorn and scoff, 
 And yet when they desire betroth 
 She charms them. 
 
 She knows that if she mingles low, 
 The evil class will treat her so, 
 And those who try to upward soar 
 Will shun her. 
 
 She's never wrecked herself at all, 
 At these low dissipating balls 
 Where women dance and virtue falls 
 She scorns them. 
 
 She never goes in public places, 
 Where men and women's evil faces 
 Are ever looking for disgraces 
 She fears them. 
 
 She never strolls the streets alone, 
 Whene'er the sun has ceased to roam 
 And all the stars so brightly shone 
 She waives it.

 
 When men put on an outside show, 
 To see if woman won't adore, 
 While to virtue his heart's a foe 
 She's vex-ed. 
 
 She gives pleasure a reverent touch, 
 She never tries to know too much 
 Of foolishness, gab and all su< h 
 She's seen these. 
 
 Pure literature attracts her eyes, 
 Trash novels she detests, despise, 
 She sees the future, hears its cries 
 "Protect us!" 
 
 She knows contentment is decay, 
 That discontent brings brighter days 
 By men and women's thriving ways 
 She's busy. 
 
 She knows that early fragrance flees, 
 The deepest cup hath still its lees, 
 And she thinks there's a "yet to be" 
 She's hopeful. 
 
 She sometimes walks in slip'ry places, 
 But pride with all its charming graces, 
 Makes all the evil-minded fices 
 Respect her.



 
  
 Sometimes her mind is fluctuation, 
 Sometimes her soul is detestation, 
 Sometimes her heart is admiration 
 She usurps. 
 
 You see her as she skips along, 
 She has not thought of any wrong, 
 She's firm for right, well tried and strong 
 She's dauntless. 
 
 She never has that vain belief 
 That someone's watching her as chief 
 And asking every one in brief 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 There's a secret she calls her own, 
 
 A myst'ry to most young girls unknown, 
 
 And 'gainst the outside worldly tone 
 
 
 It cheers her. 
 
 She knows the rock once cleft for all, 
 She stands where'er its shadows fall, 
 And when she leans upon its walls 
 She's strengthened. 
 
 It makes the blessed Savior smile 
 To see a trusty, faithful child 
 Go through the world pure, undefined- - 
 She knows it.
 
 The eye may try to be a charm, 
 But from the heart's imperial throng, 
 Come penciled lines of right and wrong 
 She's cautious. 
 
 Time's etching gives her tone of thought, 
 God's etching shows divinely bought 
 Soul stenciled by the spirit taught 
 She's fix-ed. 
 
 Her sisters all should imitate, 
 Her brothers should appreciate, 
 Her father should reconsecrate 
 And mother. 
 
 I hope her Christian spirit bold 
 Will dwell where summer seasons roll, 
 And cheerful hearts will ne'er grow old 
 She'll like it. 
 
 And when time's clouds have all gone by, 
 And she has quit the world of sighs, 
 I hope the place beyond the skies 
 Will take her. 
 
 Now some of you who read these lines, 
 May try to form within your minds, 
 The reason why I write this rhyme 
 I like her.



 
  
 Well I guess that it must be true, 
 And if you knew her as I do, 
 I think you'd kinder like her too- 
 She earns it. 
 
 Oh, somewhere in this shadowed land, 
 
 A host of shining angels stand ; 
 
 Somewhere the sun is shining bright, 
 
 And hearts are made of burdens, light ; 
 
 Somewhere the little children shout 
 
 And walk the streets, their hearts are stout; 
 
 Somewhere the evil hearts of men 
 
 That tempt the little ones to sin 
 
 Are counted as a wicked shame, 
 
 And wicked men will be refrained 
 
 From doing evil, dirty work, 
 
 Which, from the young ones, virtue jerk ; 
 
 Somewhere good people congregate 
 
 And leave off those who dissipate 
 
 And make them have a strong desire 
 
 To quit their ways and come up higher: 
 
 Somewhere young men appreciate 
 
 The girl who shuns all future fates; 
 
 Somewhere good deeds are recognized, 
 
 And virtue counted as a prize; 
 Somewhere the angels hover 'round 
 To dedicate the earthly town 
 Because it tries to do the right 
 And keep the Lord's will e'er in sight; 
 Oh, somewhere there's security 
 To live a life of purity, 
 Not our town. 
 
 
 
 
 Love's Labor Lost. 
 
 Sweetheart, you know what true love is, 
 You know we have loved each other, 
 You know that we have sometimes felt 
 As near as sister and brother. 
 
 You know, my dear, the time has been 
 When to be in each other's sight 
 And to talk, and hear each other talk 
 To both our hearts was delight. 
 
 You know it has not been so long 
 Since we, in saying good night 
 Would fondly hug and kiss each other, 
 Oh my! what a change tonight! 
 
 Can it be true that some one else 
 Hah entered into your heart, 
 And tells me that from this time on 
 I shall have no lot or part?
 
 Can it be true that all my love, 
 Of which I so proudly boast, 
 Is drift-wood on the restless sea 
 And my task, "Love's labor lost ?" 
 
 Deception. 
 
 Well, dearest one, I hope my heart 
 
 Will stop its bitter sigh, 
 
 Because it never more can share 
 
 Thy glorious destiny; 
 
 My love has never sought reward, 
 
 'Twas joy enough for me 
 
 To dwell alone at certain times 
 
 And cherish thoughts of thee. 
 
 My mother to her child once gave 
 
 Affection's untold wealth, 
 
 Since then I've seen the swift decay 
 
 Of hope, and joy, and health ; 
 
 1 murmured not, at heaven's decree, 
 
 Though thus of all bereft, 
 
 When you and I began to love 
 
 A world of bliss was left.


 
 Though other ties thy heart now bind 
 
 While we but drift apart, 
 
 Yet, am I sinning if I hide 
 
 Thine image in my heart? 
 
 So sweet, so holy was the spell 
 
 By love around me cast 
 
 That I am blinded to all love 
 
 Since this, my charm, has past, 
 
 I feel that you another love, 
 Yet there's a heavy trace, 
 And all the love of others 
 Those bright tints can't efface. 
 I hope his lot a joyous one 
 If you his fate control, 
 I'll try to seek a higher fate 
 The union of the soul. 
 
 The time was, when I looked on thee 
 
 As God sent future bride, 
 
 And had a longing in my heart 
 
 To thus be satisfied; 
 
 But it is best for you and I 
 
 If we are not to wed, 
 
 To know before we go too far 
 
 Upon the lover's tread.



 
 LOVE HKGATNED, 
 
 Farewell, beloved one, when thy brow 
 
 The etipid crown shall bind, 
 
 And when, somewhere in life's abode 
 
 You and someone combine, 
 
 Then think of one who looked on thee 
 
 With more than human pride, 
 
 And glories in the thought that you 
 
 Are someone's rightful bride. 
 
 Love Regained 
 
 If it is really true that I have grieved thee, 
 You whom my soul has always loved the best, 
 Can you not come to me once more forgiving, 
 And lay your head again upon my breast? 
 
 Last night when I in grief and sorrow left you, 
 And heajtd the rapid slam of your screen door ; 
 I felt that I toward my doom was going, 
 And love and joy would be mine nevermore. 
 
 The thought that caused my heart to bleed 
 
 most freely: 
 
 I've always tried to go the true love's route, 
 And then to think my only heart's affection, 
 Myself and word did disbelieve and doubt.



 
 And then I felt that sill my earthly efforts, 
 Were wasted and what we call human life, 
 Was nothing but a sea of disappointment, 
 Of myth and pain, of sorrow, grief and strife. 
 
 Hut since I have received from you a letter, 
 Which says that you have called me back 
 
 again, 
 
 A heavy mist has gathered up before me, 
 When it is gone F hope there'll be no pain. 
 
 If I had known how sadly I should grieve you, 
 
 If I had thought that it was the last, 
 
 There's njthin* in the world had made me 
 
 leave you, 
 And now, dear heart, I hope the gloom is past. 
 
 Can you not see how I have missed you, dear 
 est, 
 
 How I regret I ever gave you pain ; 
 How heretofore I held you first and nearest f 
 
 love, may I say you are mine again? 
 
 1 will be kinder to you. I was fretful; 
 Life had so much that was too hard to bear, 
 I did not understand how self -forgetful, 
 Your love had lightened every pain and care.



 
  
 We grow too sure of those who never give us 
 A single anxious thought; they are our own: 
 I did not dream how much I really loved you, 
 Until I thought my priceless treasure gone. 
 
 I hate to think of sorrow's painful palace, 
 I could not stand to think that you were there; 
 I felt that you w r ere passing, while I love you, 
 Beyond me, among men that you could bear. 
 
 Yet, if 'tis true that you are still my lover, 
 Your own pure life no mocking chance has 
 
 known ; 
 
 Can you not now sweet consolation give me, 
 For grief and doubt that have so bitter grown ? 
 
 Can you not just for my sake once more kiss me ; 
 
 And we'll forget the words that gave us pain, 
 
 They haunt me now, and that you love and 
 miss me, 
 
 May we now call our doubts true love regain 
 ed? 
 
 Love and Pear Contest. 
 
 They say that in each human heart, 
 There is an unseen battle-field, 
 
 Ton which two fighting forces meet, 
 And neither one consents to vield.



 
 LOVE AND FEAR CONTEST. 98 
 
 I don't know who those forces are, 
 
 There's love and hatred, hope and fear, 
 
 There's laughter with his great bazaar, 
 There's sorrow with its bitter tear. 
 
 Once love stepped out upon my breast, 
 And gazing at the vacant skies; 
 
 Had thoughts of one it thinks the best, 
 And this is what, aloud it cried: 
 
 Just thoughts of her is music sweet, 
 Dear A. V. : Oh be still my heart; 
 
 And darling with what joy it speaks. 
 Oh, how it makes my senses start. 
 
 I must confess it rolls along, 
 In scintillating streams of bliss ; 
 
 Until it mingles with my song 
 And thrills me like a pulsing kiss. 
 
 Then fear came forth upon the scene, 
 And said "beware of passive bliss; 
 
 For things are not just what they seem," 
 Then love replied in words like this: 
 
 I recognize the Christian plan, 
 This earthly life is built upon ; 
 
 It gives a wife toev'ry man, 
 And I'll be satisfied with one.



 
  
 Yes surely I'll be satisfied, 
 
 If I can get the one I love ; 
 The one who's taken away my heart, 
 
 And carries it where'er she roves. 
 
 But fear, I trembled at one thought; 
 
 If she consents to be my bride, 
 What, oh what, if I can't supply 
 
 The things to make her satisfied. 
 Could I be happy? No, not I, 
 
 I'd rather be adrift at sea, 
 With the storms around me raging, 
 
 And no one there to care for me. 
 
 But I will do the best I can, 
 The noblest precepts to obey ; 
 
 But sometimes tides of fierce desires, 
 Around my heart doth surge and sway. 
 
 I must restrain the thoughts I feel, 
 Now glowing in my fervent breast; 
 
 They're not conducive to my weal, 
 Simply a love and fear contest. 
 
 Fixed Love. 
 
 You know that I love you, yet bid me adieu, 
 Can happiness live when absent from you? 
 Will sleep on my eyelids e'er sweetly alight 
 When greeted no more by a tender good night?

 Oh, never, for deep is the record enshrined, 
 Thy look' and thy voice will survive in my mind ; 
 Though age may the treasure of memory remove 
 Unshaken shall flourish the thought that 1 love. 
 
 Through life's winding valley, in anguish, in rest, 
 Exalted in joy, or by sorrow depressed; 
 Just place in the mirror that lies on my heart 
 Thine image shall never one moment depart. 
 
 When time, life, and all that we mortals hold 
 dear, 
 
 Like visions, like dreams, shall at last disap 
 pear, 
 
 Though raised among seraphs to realms above, 
 
 Unshaken shall flourish thethought that Hove. 
 
 New Year's Greeting. 
 
 To a loved one. 
 
 As this is the first of the year, 
 
 And I am all alone, 
 I thought I'd try to draw me near 
 
 To thee, my dear, my own. 
 
 Yes, I'm alone, and don't you know 
 
 I do not like to speak, 
 Yet I will, as 'tis fitting now, 
 
 My wanted silence break.



 
  
 There is a love that in my soul 
 Burns silent and alone; 
 
 It kindles flames around my heart, 
 You know that heart's your own. 
 
 The dearest idol I have known 
 Is my dear Lord above; 
 
 The next one which I long to own 
 Is you, my precious love. 
 
 I call myself both chaste and pure, 
 And free from passions low ; 
 
 Hence I know what I say is true, 
 For conscience speaketh so. 
 
 Thy Christian spirit I do prize, 
 For this I've surely seen ; 
 
 For this thou'rt precious to my eyes 
 As gold and jewels sheen. 
 
 Thy sweet face I esteem indeed, 
 So modest and so kind; 
 
 Its presence I forever need, 
 May I call that face mine ? 
 
 I've never written such a poem 
 
 To mortal girl before, 
 Because I've never loved a woman 
 
 As the one I now adore.



 
 During the year that's past and gone, 
 I've launched in a new field: 
 
 That tender chord broke with a song, 
 And now to love I yield. 
 
 As I review my past year's work, 
 Some things I've left undone; 
 
 And yet I feel that I have gained, 
 If your confidence I've won. 
 
 I hope that I have not done that 
 
 To bring thee any pain ; 
 For all I've done was done in love, 
 
 Dear, is my love in vain? 
 
 Throughout the year of ninety 
 
 If lovers still we be; 
 Let's have that love that warms both 
 hearts 
 
 And let our minds be free. 
 
 Miss Snow Flake and the Lovers. 
 
 Little Miss Snow Flake came to town 
 All dressed up in a velvet gown ; 
 
 And nobody looked so fresh and fail- 
 As little Miss Snow Fl.-iUc, I declare.



 
  
 Out of the cozy cloud she stepped, 
 
 Where most all of the snowflakes slept ; 
 She thought her beauty would ne'er be known 
 
 tf 
 
 If in a crowd, so she came alone. 
 
 All alone from the great blue sky 
 
 Where the swift clouds went scudding by, 
 
 All the way from the bright abode 
 Down somewhere near the city road. 
 
 There she rested near out of breath, 
 And there she speed'ly met her death; 
 
 And nobody could exactly tell 
 
 .lust where little Miss Snow Flake fell. 
 
 But a very prominent young man, 
 
 Both for love and his heart's command 
 
 Was out that night to see his girl, 
 
 Whenthe Miss Snow Flake gave her twirl. 
 
 So when the young man said he'd go, 
 He op'd the door and cried out "O!" 
 
 And he fell back most out of breath 
 And almost scared his girl to death. 
 
 That Miss Snow Flake of whom we speak, 
 Had struck the young man on the cheek; 
 
 His shoes were of the patent kind, 
 His overcoat he'd left behind.

 
 And s"he says: "What's the matter dear?" 
 He says, "See how it snows out here," 
 
 And if I have to go out doors, 
 I'll get frost bitten on the nose." 
 
 These two did love from depth of heart; 
 
 In danger's realm they could not part; 
 And now I ask both men and maids, 
 
 Whether this man went home or stayed. 
 
 The Trip I Would Like to Take. 
 
 Man has a curious appetite, 
 He's all the time wishing to go; 
 And if he had the wings of a kite, 
 He'd travel this wide world o'er. 
 
 Sometime I'd like to go away, 
 Far over the Rocky Mountains ; 
 Where the rainbows dance on silvry 
 
 rays, 
 Of California's fountain. 
 
 In the rocks below, in the trees above, 
 In the brooklet and the river 
 I could read and know that God is love, 
 And of all good things the giver.



 
  
 I would like to go to the Yellowstone, 
 And witness the giant geysers; 
 To see its grandure there alone, 
 Would surely make me wiser. 
 
 For in the roar the hissing stream, 
 As it issues from the crater; 
 I could there learn more of the bound 
 less theme, 
 Of a kind and wise Creator. 
 
 Then I would go to the great Black Hills, 
 Across the plains of Dakota; 
 And take a stroll to the rippling rills, 
 And lakes of Minnesota. 
 
 I would sit on lake Itaska's shore 
 Where the Mississippi rises; 
 And Minnehaha's laughing roar 
 Would till me with glad surprises. 
 Id go to the ' Dreaaiy city," 
 Well yes, and while I was there ; 
 I'd make myself a committee, 
 To witness the ruins of the fair. 
 I would journey then to Southern climes, 
 'Mid Florida's blooming bowers; 
 There to sea God's work sublime, 
 In the beautiful, fragrant flowers.



 
 
 
 From there I'd make a flying trip, 
 To the gateway city of the east; 
 And from its great exhibits, 
 And Negro arts I'd feast. 
 
 And then a little cruise I'd take, 
 Along the Atlantic Ocean ; 
 To where the earth with a powerful quake 
 Put Charleston in wild commotion. 
 
 I would still continue on my way. 
 Through the Shenandoah valley, 
 Where the ' boys in blue and the boys 
 
 in gray," 
 Would waver again to rally. 
 
 Then I'd go to Niagara's Falls, 
 And there I would learn and wonder, 
 For God can teach in a voice that calls 
 From the cataract's deafening thunder. 
 I'd wander over into Texas, 
 To visit a loving sister, 
 I'd talk of the days gone and past, 
 And tell her how I had missed her. 
 I would then cross into Mexico, 
 And vi-it those ancient mounds; 
 That were built hundreds of years ago, 
 Whose mystery man has not found.



 
  
 I'd go to Italy's sunny climes, 
 
 To the "city of seven hills," 
 
 And from its structure of ancient times, 
 
 And grandure I'd be filled. 
 
 I'd go to the unspeakable Turk, 
 
 Among the Armenian strife ; 
 
 And ask them how from conscience 
 
 clear, 
 They still took human life. 
 
 I'd go before the courts of France, 
 Where Waller was in jail ; 
 I'd prick theirears with facts, and make 
 Their conscience go his bail. 
 
 Then I would journey to the North, 
 To see that Shakespearian land ; 
 Where Hamlet said from conscious wrath 
 "What a piece of work is man." 
 
 I would then go to the Holy Land, 
 Where the Saviour was crucified, 
 Then I could better keep His commands, 
 Seeing the place where He died. 
 I'd traverse all the paths of Paul, 
 Among the various nations; 
 Then I'd go where man had his fall, 
 And view the land of creation.



 

 
 I'd then go into Egypt land, 
 Where Joseph was sent by God, 
 I'd stand where Moses gave command, 
 I'd tread where Israel trod. 
 
 I'd go into Africa's Jungles. 
 Where the Bible has never been, 
 And attempt God's word to mumble, 
 In the hearts of heathen men. 
 
 I'd visit then the Isles of the sea, 
 And view those novel scenes, 
 I'd tell the people what to be, 
 And not what they should seem. 
 
 If I was able Christian friends, 
 To travel this journey through, 
 It would not be for sights or scenes, 
 But teaching men to be true. 
 
 And if I could on this journey roam, 
 My trip would not be ended; 
 I'd like to view the eternal home, 
 And there be recommended.



 
  
 Alone with Jesus. 
 
 Over the hills and dales, Jesus, that I strolled 
 in the long ago, 
 
 I am wandering once again my Lord, where 
 dame nature's teachings glow; 
 
 And I pause by the \\py to whisper, Lord, to 
 the blossoms sweet and fair, 
 
 A poor little fudacl sorrow, Lard, there's no 
 body else to care. 
 
 Springtime with all its joys, Jesus, is out on 
 
 the old highway, 
 But the breezes sigh as the} r pass me by and 
 
 over the meadows stray ; 
 Mournfully sigh the breezes, Lord, as they 
 
 pass me standing there, 
 By the pine tree row where the daises grow, 
 
 and nobody for me cares. 
 
 Standing alone with the trees, my Lord, I am 
 
 lost in a pensive dream, 
 I am floating away through the happy day, 
 
 when my youthful conscience gleam, 
 The conscience that .-ha red my love for you, 
 
 The conscience that smiled as fair, 
 As the promise true I was glad to view, with 
 
 nobodv else to care.



 

 
 Over the hills and dales, Jesus, in the shadow 
 
 ing rool of dav, 
 COMICS the echo low of long ago the tendorest 
 
 things to say. 
 And I smile anew as the twilight conies to ban 
 
 ish 1113- long despair 
 With a thought of You that is sweet and pure 
 
 and wonder if You will care. 
 
 Something speaks to me, Jesus, the breex- 
 
 es are singing low, 
 Something that thrills the conscience, Lord, 
 
 and gives them a brighter glow; 
 Something that soothes the pinching pain I 
 
 have patiently learned to wear, 
 Through the endless day on the sweet high 
 
 way, it seems, Lord, that you are there. 
 
 Then Jesus said "I'm with you now, and 
 
 will be with you always, 
 We'll go together and make things better 
 
 along the sweet highway," 
 We strolled through the meadows together, 
 
 the days seemed endless fair, 
 lie told me of His home on high and the 
 
 inanv mansions there.



 
  
 My Bible. 
 
 From Santa Glaus' most sacred nook, 
 Came forth this little prayerful book, 
 On Christmas day. 
 
 As the old year is past and gone, 
 And the new year begins with song, 
 I'll read its ray. 
 
 As we look back o'er our past lives. 
 And see from whence blessings derived, 
 We all should pray. 
 
 Oh ! who so brave with earthly care, 
 As not to give an humble prayer, 
 Some part of day ? 
 
 What heart so clear, so pure within, 
 That needeth not some check from sin, 
 Needs not to pray ? 
 
 Mid each day's anger, what retreats, 
 More needful than the mercy seat, 
 On that last day ? 
 
 What thoughts more dear than that our 
 
 O 
 
 God, His face should hide 
 And say through life's swelling tide, 
 No time to hear?



 
 
 You have launched your boat on life's gid- 
 
 * dy sea, 
 
 And your ;ill is afloat for eternity, 
 When you have no time to pray. 
 
 You have chosen the world, with its mis 
 named pleasures; 
 
 You have chosen the world before heav 
 en's own treasures, 
 If you have no time to pray. 
 
 When the stars are concealed, the rudder 
 
 gone, 
 Heaven will be sealed to the wandering 
 
 one, 
 Who ha* no time to pray. 
 
 The grave shall yield its prize when from 
 
 the wondering skies, 
 Christ shall with wondering angels come, 
 
 to wake those sleeping in the tomb, 
 Then you'll have no time to pray. 
 
 Oh ! may it ever be said, that this book, 
 by us, shall be read, 
 
 And, may we all together meet, Embrac 
 ing the Redeemer's feet, 
 For we have time to pray.



 
  
 Fashion. 
 
 Master of the woman's kingdom. 
 What is this men say of thee? 
 
 Thou art what the woman honors, 
 Thou art all some care to be! 
 
 And they say, you're loved by many, 
 Loved too often, loved too well, 
 
 Just as if there could be any 
 Over loving in thy swell. 
 
 Sir, no doubt these dear good people, 
 
 Were you not their earthly God, 
 Could fruild them a Christian steeple 
 
 Up to heaven, without a hod. 
 _ Toa and Solomon the wise man, 
 
 Are two fellows of a kind, 
 Just to please the wants of woman, 
 
 You would leave your soul behind. 
 And those sisters that can't catch you, 
 
 What a plight they must be in ! 
 For the song you sing oft leads them 
 
 To commit an awful sin. 
 Now all wicked aspirations, 
 
 Do not spring from souls depraved 
 Into fashion.- Its elation 
 
 Is the sanctity it craved.



 
 19 
 
 In the world's long reign of struggles, 
 Thou hast played an active part ; 
 
 Hast thou during all thy journey, 
 Mended up a broken heart? 
 
 Thou hast found some so despondent, 
 Who the name of God despise; 
 
 Hast thou tried to once control by 
 Pointing over to Paradise? 
 
 When thou tindest men and women, 
 Struggling for the higher life, 
 
 Dost thou lend a hand to help them? 
 No, thou causest human strife ! 
 
 Woman tries to be thy servant, 
 Disobeys dame Nature's laws, 
 
 Ere she reaches thirty summers, 
 Shattered frame and sunken jaws. 
 
 Ere she comes to age of duty, 
 
 Her own grave she's quickly dug, 
 
 Simply 'cause thy longing beauty. 
 Keeps her body in a shrug. 
 
 You go with them to the church house, 
 They do not hear the preacher; 
 
 You are all their heart's elation, 
 You are their Sunday teacher.



 
  
 Thou hast seized the cross of Jesus, 
 Loaded it with new born sins ; 
 
 Overloaded it with folly, 
 Placed it on His back again, 
 
 Thou, in thy domain of pleasure, 
 
 Crush the thorns through Jesus' crown; 
 
 Making men laugh at His passions, 
 And the blood that's trickling down. 
 
 Thou art in the great theatres, 
 Thou art on the ball room floor; 
 
 Thou art in the gambler's dungeon, 
 Thou dost all men's sorrows know. 
 
 Thou hast severed many fam'lies, 
 
 Children off from home have strayed ; 
 
 Father sits there broken hearted, 
 Mother joined thy great parade. 
 
 Well, no doubt you had your troubles, 
 Devils blue that fought your hopes ; 
 
 But you have it back in double, 
 Woman's kingdom in a lope. 
 
 If your lady love stuck by you, 
 
 In the mediaeval day, 
 Ah ! dear fashion, here is to you, 
 
 In these times that is the way.



 
 
 Always sure you have your glory, 
 
 It increases and takes well; 
 What the end is of thy story, 
 
 There's no paragraph to tell. 
 
 At thy feet a million people 
 
 Lie today without a breath ; 
 Who, in worshiping thy steeple, 
 
 Found an everlasting death. 
 
 Strong Drink. 
 
 There is a crime upon this land, 
 That works both night and day, 
 
 It gives its wicked, dark command, 
 The hearts of men it swaya. 
 
 It brings men from all ranks of life, 
 Down to the brutish tribe, 
 
 Where everything is war and strife, 
 And wickedness abide. 
 
 It goes into the sacred homes, 
 Where peace and love should be ; 
 
 It makes the children long to roam, 
 And home affections flee.



 
  
 It knocks the noble mother clown, 
 
 It kicks her on the floor, 
 And makes her husband give her frown, 
 
 Which follows with a blow. 
 
 Sometimes it curses mother dear, 
 And stabs her bleeding heart, 
 
 And, filled with sorrow, love, and fear, 
 From husband's face departs. 
 
 It strips the children naked and 
 Leaves them without their food; 
 
 It breaks the fam'ly coral strand, 
 And leaves things dark and rude. 
 
 It takes the young man in his prime, 
 And makes him curse his mother, 
 
 But this is the beginning crime, 
 It takes him even further. 
 
 It makes him take the spotless heart 
 Of some bright, prosperous maid, 
 
 And take it to the demon mart, 
 And there has it arrayed. 
 
 It makes her break the marriage vow, 
 
 While in her honey moon, 
 And long from his demoniac rows, 
 
 To roam and cure her swoons.



 
 It makes the young man poison all 
 
 The tissues of her system, 
 And various diseases make 
 
 This maid their deathly victim. 
 
 He soon vacates this world himself, 
 And leaves a weeping widow, 
 
 With mind, and soul, and heart bereft, 
 A past all dark and bitter. 
 
 He leaves with her an infant child, 
 
 With an intemperate birth ; 
 To, if it lives, go and defile 
 
 Some other one of worth. 
 
 This demon takes a million youths 
 
 In every passing year, 
 And makes them disregard the truth, 
 And give to right a jeer. 
 
 It strikes a million mothers' hearts, 
 That should be filled with joy, 
 
 And makes their inner senses start 
 With ' Where's my precious boy?*' 
 
 It takes a million mid-life men, 
 From out the state and church, 
 
 And takes them to its wicked den 
 Where conscience walks with crutch.



 
  
 It takes the old retiring sage, 
 Who should give good advice, 
 
 And makes him, in his ripe old age 
 Detest the living Christ. 
 
 Tt makes the leaders of the state 
 Forget that man needs limit, 
 
 And names this crime incjustrv great, 
 Because there's money in it. 
 
 It fills our penitent'ry walls, 
 
 It runs the county farms; 
 It overflows the prison stalls, 
 
 With all its death-like charms. 
 
 Its fruits are the asylums, and 
 Poor-houses, and hospitals, 
 
 The gambling hell, the ill famed house, 
 Where satan plays the fiddle. 
 
 It wrecks the system of a man, 
 
 Promotes arterial action, 
 Inflames the liver and it stands 
 
 Amidst diseases' factions. 
 
 This prej's upon the active lungs, 
 Which paints the hectic cheek, 
 
 And prophecies a sepulcher 
 For a consumptive freak.



 
 
 This follows on the fatal train, 
 
 Promoting untold sadness, 
 Until it strikes upon the brain, 
 
 Which brings distressing madness. 
 
 The victim feels himself in hell 
 
 While he's with living men; 
 And he could whet the dagger well, 
 
 To take the life of friends. 
 
 His wicked passions are inflamed, 
 With crime, with lust, with anger, 
 
 And drops his heart in human shame 
 Beneath all human candor. 
 
 He seeks to hold relentless war, 
 
 With God, or man, or self; 
 All men to him are at a par, 
 
 His mind is all bereft. 
 
 This crime is universal, 
 
 It travels this wide world o'er, 
 
 It makes men's hearts reversal, 
 And puts conscience out the door. 
 
 It has swallowed generations, 
 And made whole nations shrink ; 
 
 Its mission is damnation, 
 
 This crime is named "Strong Drink."



 
  
 Sam Jones. 
 
 Who is it for the last two weeks 
 
 Has been in our town. 
 And on the end of every tongue 
 
 We hear his name resound? 
 
 Who is it every night and day, 
 Would draw a mighty crowd, 
 
 And from the depth of his own heart, 
 Poured forth God's truth aloud? 
 
 Who was it that appealed to all, 
 
 To every class of men, 
 And showed the dreadful wickedness, 
 
 In their indulging sins? 
 
 Who was it called the children out 
 
 And told them what to do, 
 And told them what they must forbid, 
 
 To be God's children true? 
 
 Who touched that little tender chord 
 Within their youthful hearts, 
 
 And deep down in their youthful souls 
 Did God's own word impart?



 
 Who called (he mothers out one day 
 
 And opened to their view, 
 The way they must through life's conflicts 
 
 Lead their dear children through? 
 
 Who told them that their mission was 
 
 More sacred than them all, 
 That they built up a platform where 
 
 The child would stand or fall? 
 
 Who told the wives that selfsame day 
 
 What was their sacred duty, 
 And told the daughters, young and old, 
 
 That character was beauty? 
 
 Who told the young men that the world 
 
 Was hanging on its fate, 
 And waiting for some noble men 
 
 To fill the church and state ? 
 
 And then who told the fathers dear 
 
 That they too had a hand, 
 That on the fam'ly's record book 
 
 Were traces of their hands ? 
 
 Who told them that the faithful wife, 
 Who was the queen of home, 
 
 Were due all his affections, that 
 He had no time to roam?



 
  
 Who told them that those children dear 
 
 Now playing at mother's knee, 
 Depended on their father's strength, 
 
 They'd be what father'd be? 
 Who called men from the gambling hell, 
 
 And told them that the cards, 
 That they had pushed from day to day 
 
 Would their own child retard? 
 Who called men from the low saloons 
 
 And told them that the cup 
 Would cause their sons to be like them, 
 
 No better than a pup. 
 Who drew the tears to Christian eyes, 
 
 And caused their souls to weep; 
 Who made some sinners cry aloud, 
 
 ''I'll try God's word to keep?" 
 But time is brief and I must stop, 
 
 Do you all understand ; 
 Excell and Steward both were there, 
 
 But Sam Jones was the man. 
 
 
 
 
 A Human Artist. 
 
 Would that I were an artist 
 And while I stand in time 
 I could show our youths eternity, 
 WVile they are in their prime.


 -Would that I were an artist, 
 And to this American nation 
 I'd picture out the lynching crime 
 And show its revelation. 
 
 Would that I were an artist, 
 I would draw a human heart, 
 I'd show to men and women 
 The effects of corrupted parts. 
 
 And then I'd outline Paradise, 
 And give a celestial view, 
 I'd show to men their future home, 
 If while on earth they're true. 
 
 
 Maid and Mosquito. 
 
 A maiden sat at midday hour, 
 Beneath a shady tree, 
 She heard a noise within her bower, 
 ** My soul, what can it be?" 
 
 She looked around, but looked in vain, 
 For nothing met her gaze, 
 She quieted down to read again, 
 Its voice -igain was raised.



 
  
 Hark ! hush ! I know it can't be fur, 
 'Tis clearer than before, 
 Is it the whistle of the car, 
 Or distant thunder's roar? 
 
 Ah! soon I'll know for here it conies, 
 My nerves quake in their bud, 
 For with its long and pointed tongue 
 'Twill pierce and drink my blood. 
 
 My doom is sealed, I know my fate, 
 O ! would that I were a man, 
 He darts from his aerial state 
 And lights upon her hand. 
 
 She screamed for help and raised a stick 
 And fought, for she could not hide, 
 The great mosquito gave a kick, 
 Fell from her hand and died. 
 
 She could not read because she hud 
 Deep meditating thoughts, 
 She stood and gazed upon the spot 
 Where she'nd the skeeter fought. 
 
 But present!}' she heard a noise 
 Circling around her head, 
 And there was a score of skeeters, 
 Singing songs of the dead.



 
 
 She closed her book and sat upright, 
 The skeeters increased their mew, 
 She saw she could not stand it long, 
 So she grabbed her book and flew. 
 
 
 
 
 Magna est Veritas. 
 
 I want to be a soldier, 
 From realms of heavenly light, 
 Be pure in soul, and bold in heart, 
 And guide all mankind right. 
 
 I want to serve the weary, 
 And cause a light to shine 
 In every path that's dreary, 
 To cheer when strength declines. 
 
 I want that meek and tender glory 
 That fills the soul with life, 
 So dear to youth, to age and hoary, 
 To all so dear and free from strife. 
 
 Our lives nre unincumbered 
 By depressing want and woe, 
 And the days fly by unnumbered, 
 Smoothly down time's path they go.



 
  
 I'm trying to forge a key 
 To ope the giites of heaven ; 
 That key's in the hearts of men, 
 And back its bolts are driven. 
 
 Lord strengthen me, that while I stand 
 On the rock, and strong in Thee, 
 I may stretch out a loving hand 
 To wrestle a troubled sea. 
 
 Lord, teach me, that I may teach 
 The things thou dost impart, 
 Help me and my wants to reach 
 The depths of many a heart. 
 
 "To place my thoughts in one line," 
 In a decoration of beauty, 
 And get behind my conscience, 
 My whole life's work is duty. 
 
 These words come to my mind, 
 
 "The work of the world is done by a 
 
 few," 
 
 These words come from my conscience, 
 "God looks for a part to be done by 
 
 you."


 
 Just Married. 
 
 You've launched in a new vessel, 
 And down life's stream you're going, 
 Remember that life's tides will rise, 
 And life's winds will be blowing. 
 
 But while the storms are raging, 
 Stand by each other's side, 
 And just as 'tis when all is calm, 
 Your boat will stem the tide. 
 
 Eternal love and wisdom drew 
 
 The plan of earth and skies, 
 
 Let His great love be e'er your guide 
 
 Throughout your married lives. 
 
 May your lives be prosperous, 
 
 And always full of love, 
 
 And may you both be led by Him 
 
 Whose home's in heaven above. 
 
 All earthly good we wish thee, 
 
 All good for thee and thine, 
 
 And still not only earthly, 
 
 Hut all that is divine. 
 
 May heaven and earth both mingle, 
 
 May earth and heaven be one 
 
 All through your earthly journey, 
 
 Till set your earthly sun,



 
  
 The haart that you have given, 
 The heart that's given to you, 
 May both be joined together, 
 May both be good and true. 
 
 In shadow and in sunshine, 
 
 In sighing and in song, 
 
 May heaven bless your union, 
 
 Throughout your whole life long. 
 
 Woman in Congress. 
 
 Well, a woman went to congress, 
 
 Because she was elected ; 
 She lived in a woman's era, 
 
 Hence she was not objected. 
 
 All of the leading problems 
 Of the country's weal or woe, 
 
 Were discussed while there at congress, 
 And her mind was all aglow. 
 
 And a lady friend said to her ; 
 
 "Did you catch the speaker's eye?" 
 "I sure did, and I'll tell you 
 
 The simple reason why!"




 "I were my navy blue bloomers, 
 
 And heliotrope skirt waist; 
 And his eyes were ever on me, 
 
 I dressed to suit his taste." 
 
 This woman was a congressman 
 
 She had the states at heart ; 
 Of course she had to dress that way, 
 
 For that's a woman's part. 
 
 Life Pictures. 
 
 One little look from mother, 
 Has caused the innocent child, 
 To go into spasmodic shame 
 Or a distillation of smiles. 
 
 Just one little word when spoken, 
 In a soft and gentle tone, 
 May send reviving spirits 
 Into a heart of stone. 
 
 Sometimes a soul that's frigid, 
 Though frozen up for years, 
 May, by an act of kindness 
 Be melted into tears.



 
  
 So we, whose lives are lighted 
 

 
 With all the world holds dear, 
 Should give to those less favored 
 A kindly word of cheer. 
 
 These little things we count for naught, 
 Hold all our greatest power, 
 The dewdrop on the thirsty bud 
 Opens the fragrant flower. 
 
 Quietude. 
 
 When my daily toil is ended 
 And the sun begins to wane, 
 O. if I could find some quietude, 
 To dispel my care and pain. 
 
 What a peaceful change I'd witness, 
 How my heart with rapture'd glow, 
 While the murmurs of the quietude 
 Lull my soul in sweet repose. 
 
 Quietude while I am busy, 
 Calmly on the bustling shore, 
 Better hearts than mine can love thee, 
 Purer lives thy peace adore.



 
 Should perchance someone enjoying 
 Kesidence within thy shrine, 
 Bury in thy placid bosom, 
 All his cares along with mine. 
 
 
 
 
 A Christmas Gift. 
 (Bible.) 
 
 Do you know that this is Christmas, 
 And this little book is sent 
 
 As a messenger of One who 
 
 Came to earth with good intent? 
 
 Came to earth, left home in glory, 
 On that first cold Christmas day, 
 
 And He's left this as a token, 
 Showing us the right of way. 
 
 When you ponder o'er its pages, 
 Think of how the Savior died, 
 
 How He suffered men's outrages, 
 Loved them, yet was crucified. 
 
 Can we count redemption's treasure, 
 Scan the glory of God's love? 
 
 Such shall be the boundless measure 
 Of His blessings from above.


 
 When the Christmases are over, 
 And the Savior comes again, 
 
 May you join the happy chorus, 
 And in glory be ordained. 



 
 The Negro's "America." 
 
 My country, 'tis of thee, 
 Sweet land of liberty, 
 
 Would I could sing; 
 Its land of Pilgrim's pride 
 Also where lynched men died 
 With such upon her tide, 
 
 Freedom can't reign. 
 
 My native country, thee 
 
 The world pronounce you free 
 
 Thy name I love ; 
 But when the lynchers rise 
 To slaughter human lives 
 Thou closest up thine eyes, 
 
 Thy God's above. 
 
 Let Negroes smell the breeze, 
 So they can sing with ease 
 
 Sweet freedom's song; 
 Let justice reign supreme, 
 Let men be what they seem 
 Break up that lyncher's screen, 
 
 Lay down all wrong.
  Our fathers' God, to Thee, 
 Author of liberty, 
 
 To Thee we sing ; 
 How can our land be bright? 
 Can lynching be a light? 
 Protect us by thy might, 
 
 Great God our King! 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Fleeting Spring. 
 
 Friends, my dear friends, do you know 
 That Springtime's April is gone, 
 
 And lovely May with all its show, 
 Has nature's spring coat on? 
 
 Birds, little birds, yes you know 
 
 That it is beautiful spring; 
 From tree to tree, the birdies go, 
 
 On fleeting wing ! 
 
 Quaker, quaker, do you know 
 
 That the yellow is going? 
 More than that do you know 
 
 That the green is growing? 
 
 Singer of songs, do you know 
 
 That youth is flying? 
 That age, at the lock of your life, 
 
 Will soon be prying?



 
  
 Lover of life, do you know 
 That youth's hue is going? 
 
 More than that, do you know 
 That the gray is showing? 
 
 Time Eternity. 
 
 The Saint's Departure. 
 
 I had a dream the other night, 
 
 I saw some strange and mystic sights 
 
 That puzzled me ; 
 Some things I saw resembled time, 
 And some resembled more sublime 
 
 "Eternity." 
 
 The oriental Persian scenes, 
 
 The tropics- with their bright sunbeams, 
 
 Could not compare. 
 And even Italy's soft'ning hillss, 
 Pleasant dales and rippling rills, 
 
 Would stand aglare. 
 
 I saw the sun rise in the East, 
 
 And watched to see its Western feast, 
 
 It ntrer set ; 
 
 I wandered 'round among the throng, 
 To see if any soul was wronged, 
 
 But none I met.



 
 TIME -ETERNITY. 131 
 
 They all had on their bright attire, 
 It seem'd they nerer would retire 
 
 To workman's garb; 
 I wondered how they could exist, 
 Forever in a pleasure mist, 
 
 My senses throbb'd. 
 
 I strolled around the city's limit, 
 
 To find the tombstones that were in it, 
 
 And as I went 
 
 I saw towers and castles high, 
 But not a white slab to my eye 
 
 Said monument. 
 
 I sought to find the destitute, 
 
 And wondered why they were so mute, 
 
 I felt for them ; 
 I could not get a single sigh, 
 Nor even see a tearful eye, 
 
 No face was grim. 
 
 I went into a chapel grand, 
 
 Its walls were gold. I saw a man 
 
 Stand by the door; 
 
 "There's no place for the poor I see!" 
 And he this answer made to me: 
 
 "We have no poor."



 
  
 I was perplexed, so I sat down, 
 Beneath a shade tree's springtime sound 
 
 And this implied: 
 "Sir! whence come all these loving 
 
 scenes, 
 This landscape to our eyes serene, 
 
 Sir ! where am I?" 
 
 And then out from among the leaves, 
 And from the pathway's flower wreathes, 
 
 And 'cross the stream; 
 There came a thronging band of saints, 
 With countenance above complaints, 
 
 Joy reigned supreme. 
 
 At first I thought I knew their voices, 
 Their greetings to me were the choicest, 
 
 I made a start ; 
 
 Hut they, arrayed in shining gold, 
 Appeared as strangers in the fold, 
 
 I knew them not. 
 
 And when they saw me puzzled stand, 
 The mighty throng did clap their hands, 
 
 Saying "welcome." 
 And all the mystery passed away, 
 The band cried out ' ' you're here to stay, 
 
 This is hearen !"



 
 CLASS VALEDICTORIAN. 133 
 
 I found that time had gone its trip, 
 Eternity had fixed its grip 
 
 On human hearts; 
 The rich and poor together stood, 
 Upon one solid brotherhood 
 
 Never to part. 
 
 And some one said from out the throng, 
 "Are all here who have conquered 
 wrong?" 
 
 He was a seer ; 
 
 And voices from all generations, 
 Sent forth in loudest exclamation: 
 
 " We are all here." 
 An angel cried "Time why depart?" 
 And Time replied with cheerful heart, 
 
 I used to be ; 
 
 But God, the maker of mankind, 
 Said some day I should be defined 
 
 "Eternity." 
 
 Class Valedictorian. 
 To A. R. 
 
 The struggles you have made in school, 
 Today are crowned with honor; 
 You st.-iiid now in a vestibule, 
 That causes you to ponder.



 
  
 School days and childhood days must end, 
 And life's tempestuous storms; 
 From every part are coining in, 
 Be firm ! Be true! Be calm ! 
 
 In conversation once you said 
 
 The highest human standing 
 
 Would be your goal. And you'd be led 
 
 By all your rights demanding. 
 
 No matter what the world may say, 
 Adopt this as an omen 
 That you will go the right of way, 
 And make yourself a woman. 
 
 tt 
 
 A gentle voice is calling thee, 
 
 The future calls for aid; 
 
 And those stern ones in death made free, 
 
 Tell you the price they paid. 
 
 Stand forth for God arid liberty. 
 Stand forth for human rights; 
 In one strong effort, worthy thee, 
 Soul stenciled, be a light. 
 
 Enter the field of life to do. 
 
 Not just to work for gain ; 
 
 For such mottoes make men untrue, 
 
 Narrowing 1 the heart and brain.



 
 CLASS VALEDICTORIAN. 135 
 
 Enter not in si feverish strife, 
 Nor in 'a giddy ing whirl, 
 For these dry the fountain of life, 
 And gulfs the soul in a swirl. 
 
 Enter not in a dull routine, 
 He who was meant to be king, 
 Thus will he made a dull machine, 
 Grinding down to a thing. 
 
 Your classmates have their eyes on you, 
 Your kindred watch your motion, 
 Your friends have all your acts in view, 
 Your ship is on the ocean. 
 
 And world-wide Christendom at large, 
 Stands waiting for your action ; 
 And God, who shaped your fleeting barge, 
 Has with you a transaction. 
 
 Thus environed move forward brave, 
 Surmount all opposition, 
 And on this restless human wave, 
 Make better man's condition. 
 
 Go forth, thou leader of the class, 
 With brain ahead of brawn; 
 Strive e'er to gain the foremost place, 
 Let no man take thv crown.



 
  
 As you move off into life's sea, 
 With skill to use the pen ; 
 Be thou a messenger of peace, 
 A beacon light to men. 
 
 Press on, you have the class's hope, 
 Be brave and watch your course ; 
 Success is on ahead and you 
 Shall gain the wished for shores. 
 
 Should I fail, not skilled in writing, 
 Best adrise here to produce ; 
 From the world's great pictures view it, 
 Put it to the best of use.



 
 PART II. 
 
 Children's Corner.



 
  
 Children's Corner. 
 
 Little Children Love One Another." liil-le. 
 
 I wish that I had the power 
 To dedicate this chapter, 
 
 There's not a single hour, 
 My soul it don't enrapture. 
 
 * * * 
 
 I wish I knew just what to say, 
 
 To introduce this part; 
 Its on my mind both night and day, 
 
 It penetrates my heart. 
 
 * # # 
 
 I wish I had the children here, 
 Well, then I couldn't write; 
 
 My mind would be in such a cheer, 
 My heart in such a flight 
 
 That I would not believe my eyes, 
 
 That I was not in Paradise.



 
 CHILDKEWS KISSES. 180 
 
 Children's Kisses. 
 
 1 John, 3:7. 
 Sometimes we kiss for passion's sake, 
 
 Sometimes we kiss through love; 
 Sometimes we kiss and make mistakes, 
 
 Our kisses should be gloved. 
 We never know when lips impart, 
 
 If it is false or true; 
 But if its from the children's heart, 
 
 Just rest assured its pure. 
 We ne'er have thoughts unsatisfied, 
 
 Which children's kisses bring; 
 No tearful eyes for hope denied, 
 
 Nor taste of bitter things. 
 We ne'er have sense of fallen pride, 
 
 No reason for resentment; 
 No thoughts of wicked Lethe's tide, 
 
 The child's kiss brings contentment. 
 The hope of endless better things, 
 
 The kiss of children wakes, 
 And stirs our hearts, till conscience sings 
 
 And hearts with gladness break. 
 If all the kisses on the earth, 
 
 Were pure as little children's, 
 And I could get my conscience's worth, 
 
 Mv kisses would be millions.






 
 THE SINGING OF BIRDS. 141 
 
 " The Time of the Singing of Birds 
 is Come." 
 
 Solomon's Song, 2:12. 
 
 I sought the sanctum of a bird, 
 
 I wanted information ; 
 I simply asked for just one word, 
 
 To help in dedication. 
 
 Chirped the birdie, "Its an honor, 
 
 If it is for the children; 
 For their holy, sacred corner, 
 
 I'll give you half a million." 
 
 "Little sisters, little brothers, 
 
 I've a message from above; 
 Told to me to tell to others, 
 
 Its a heart brim full of love." 
 
 "While time is fresh and hope is new, 
 While youth is lingering nigh, 
 
 Keep noble things within thy view, 
 Look up toward the sky." 
 
 "I often think how the angels 
 Arc near us both night and day, 
 
 Let us prevent evil passions, 
 From driving them far away."



 
  
 "Just like dear, good little children, 
 Let's try to obedient stay, 
 
 Of the sins and strifes of this world, 
 And we'll hear what angels say." 
 
 Heart Thieves. 
 
 I John, 3:18. 
 
 There is a band of little thieves, 
 
 That often 'round me dart, 
 And like the wind that takes the leaves, 
 
 They steal away my heart. 
 
 Sometimes they catch me unawares, 
 
 And e'er I get my breath, 
 The heart is gone, I know not where, 
 
 But still I'm not bereft. 
 
 Sometimes they come when both my eyes, 
 Are fixed upon them straight, 
 
 And all at once to my surprise, 
 The precious heart they take. 
 
 Sometimes they come in regiments, 
 
 By tens, by fives, by twos. 
 And sometimes even only one, 
 
 But yet the heart is due.



 
 HEART THIS VES. 143 
 
 No matter when or how they come, 
 Though I know they :ire thieves. 
 
 The heart's door is always open, 
 And gladly does receive. 
 
 And if they fail to steal my heart, 
 
 The heart is sadly grieved ; 
 And nothing sare those little rogues, 
 
 Such sadness can relieve. 
 
 Sometimes at home, sometimes at school, 
 
 Sometimes upon the street; 
 No matter where, it is the rule, 
 
 The heart gives them a greet. 
 
 Sometimes it catches one of them, 
 
 And when its not amiss, 
 The heart turns thief itself what then? 
 
 It quickly steals a kiss. 
 
 And when the heart is so bereft, 
 
 O'er wicked ways of men, 
 It receires new strength from the thought 
 
 "These little ones don't sin." 
 
 And all the influence that I have, 
 Which to these thieves is given, 
 
 Is pointing out the way that leads 
 Their little souls to heaven.



 
 ! 
 They take the heart at early dawn 
 
 Way off to Paradise, 
 And show it to the blood-bought throne, 
 
 Around the living Christ. 
 
 They take the heart at sultry noon, 
 
 Into a cooling breeze, 
 Where all of life's hardships make room 
 
 For what we call "heartsease," 
 
 They take the heart at eventide, 
 
 When daily toil is ended ; 
 They take it where the stars abide 
 
 And have its tissues mended. 
 
 And when the heart lays down to sleep, 
 
 While in a pensive dream, 
 These little thieves around it creep, 
 
 And makes the rest serene. 
 
 They take the heart at dark midnight, 
 
 And wander far away, 
 Into the land of pure delight. 
 
 Where midnight is as day. 
 
 My friends, I guess you know by now, 
 Who these thieves are in part ; 
 
 The Savior loves the little rogues, 
 The children steal my heart.



 
 God Sees. 
 
 When I rise at early morn, 
 Need I fear of any harm 
 God sees. 
 
 When I run about and play, 
 If I 'tempt to go astray 
 God sees. 
 
 When my mama whispers low, 
 "Baby you do so and so" 
 God sees. 
 
 If I disobey her rule, 
 Or if I am rude at school 
 God sees. 
 
 If I do the thing that's right, 
 Whether it be day or night- 
 God sees. 
 
 If I do a thing that's wrong. 
 Even though I hide it long 
 
 God sees. 
 
 When I'm through with all the day 
 And I kneel at night to pray 
 
 (iod 
 
 10



 
  
 After I am gone to bed, 
 
 If I cover up my head 
 
 God sees. 
 
 Even when I'm sound asleep, 
 While the angels 'round me creep- 
 God sees. 
 
 So you see I never fear, 
 God's protection's ever near 
 God sees. 
 
 Children and Mother. 
 
 I John, 1:4. 
 
 Isn't it noble children dear, 
 
 To have a mother's voice to hear, 
 
 A mother to honor and to love, 
 
 And watch that you the right way rove? 
 
 Once 'pon a time, I was a child, 
 
 And I enjoyed a mother's smile, 
 
 Since she's gone to a happy home. 
 
 I have felt at times all alone, 
 
 But your influence now I feel 
 
 Gently across my senses steal, 
 
 And undefined, resistless spells, 
 
 Brinir to me thoughts I cannot tell.



 
 CHILDREN AND MOTHER. 147 
 
 I feel her breath upon my cheek, 
 And from your letters hear her speak. 
 Seraphic sounds, more sweetly dear, 
 Than when from her they met my ear. 
 Dreams of you, dear children, keep 
 Your vigils 'round me while I sleep, 
 And wiping off the sorrowing tears, 
 Bring back the thoughts of other years. 
 Bright are the joys your spells create, 
 They place our minds in happy state, 
 For music's charm is weak and faint, 
 To that which children's love can paint. 
 But now I will not take your time, 
 For thou art mine, and mine are thine; 
 Thine by creation's mystic skill, 
 Which formed and doth sustain us still, 
 Thine by the more endearing love, 
 Which sent a Savior from above, 
 Our souls to save, our lives to bless 
 With hopes of untold happiness.



 
  
 Santa Clans 011 N<>\v Years Eve. 
 
 Il serins to me ihsit all < f ximis had none, 
 And the new year would l>e in the coining morn. 
 And it seems to me 'twa* Santa Clans that said:



 
 X.I.V7M f LAI'S. 14 
 
 % 1 know that the children are safely in bed, 
 I'll just leave my reindeer and slily steal out, 
 And taken good peep at the gifts strewn about." 
 Thetirst place he went to dwelt six reckless bojs, 
 And in a sad plight did he find all their toys, 
 The drums, it was awful, each one of the six. 
 Was riddled with holes there was not a drum 
 
 stick, 
 
 A dog with his tail gone, a horse with no head, 
 A wagon wheel tied to the wagon with thread, 
 And Santa (Maus. you know he felt awful bad, 
 He stood there and looked disappointedand sad. 
 And then Santa went where dwelt three tiny 
 
 girls. 
 All sweet little maidens, with eute dangling 
 
 curls, 
 lie <a*d : "They're not lx>vs with sm-h rough, 
 
 careless wavs, 
 
 IMM- girls can be happy in much quieter plays." 
 Mut i) he xva* shock<d when he entered in 
 
 4 here, 
 
 A doll with l>oth legs off hay -under the chair. 
 A little bird, eyckss, with feathers pulled out , 
 Reposed on n bed with its tongue it) ;i pout. 
 The tea sets so scattered that Santa (Maus said: 
 - J fee-l ve4^v sick J'll go home .and Jo



 
  
 But some one then asked him to sit in a chair, 
 And things were explained to him while he was 
 
 there. 
 They told him that toys wrecked and broken 
 
 but rise 
 
 To take on new value in little folk's eyes, 
 Those drums 'twas a pity it can't be denied, 
 The boys longed to see all the noises inside; 
 The boys found out that they were hollow, no 
 
 doubt, 
 
 We all pay big prices some things to find out, 
 So, Santa, don't plan any vengeance next year, 
 These toys, worn and broken, are none the less 
 
 dear, 
 
 And Santa, all children are not that way, 
 For some have their toys on the next xinas day. 
 Then Santa said: "Yes, I'd forgot childish 
 
 days, 
 I now feel hop'd up, you've explained childish 
 
 plays." 
 Then Santa Claus was asked to give them a 
 
 speech , 
 And this is the way that the old man did preach.



 
 RANT A OLAL'S. 151 
 
 "We can hear the muffled tread of noiseless 
 
 years, 
 And they bear the stream of both our smiles 
 
 and tears, 
 They are loaded down with hopes and dreams 
 
 sublime, 
 
 As they come stealing up the scope of time, 
 We are near the threshold of the open door, 
 We are treading where we' ye never trod before 
 And our days are on a loom and their chimes, 
 And their warp and woof are past and future 
 
 times. 
 
 VN'e are near where the old year is at an end, 
 And we know that the new will soon begin. 
 The year that is leaving may be blotted, 
 But the new one is clear, its page unspotted. 
 Let us make each day a record page clear, 
 Then we'll have a clean volume for the year. 
 Let us grasp now the key of inspiration, 
 And wind our lives with new determination. 
 That through the year now coming clear and 
 
 bright, 
 
 We'll trust in God and advocate for right." 
 Then Santa Claus, he nicely bowed his head, 
 And said the thought of speaking he did dread.



 
 .1 CHAT \\'TTtt THE BOYS. 
 
 A Chat With the Boy*, 
 
 I've been a )>oy myself, 
 
 And with hoys I play, 
 But I'm for solemn chal 
 
 With the hoys today. 
 
 You are just in prime, boys, 
 
 Life is on ahead. 
 Its responsibilities 
 
 Never learn to dread. 
 
 Never look behind, hoys. 
 
 Up ami on'* the way ? 
 Time enough to look hack 
 
 On ome future day. 
 Though the way he long, boys. 
 
 Fight it with a will: 
 Never stop to look behind 
 
 Wh> diml>ing p a hill. 
 First be sure- you're right. boys', 
 
 Tbm wilh courage .-^trfuiff 
 Stmpywer (leterminsptJons- 
 
 And move riirht along. 
 You :tre iw>t .dwa?s ftmy*.. 
 
 SMIIW^ day yon' II b<^ men. 
 Bat 1 1 WAV is the time, boys- 
 
 Fr voa to



 
 //A* KXnWKTII -I.V/> 1.0V KTII VnC 
 
 When you're near the top, boys. 
 
 Of the rugged Way, 
 Do not stop to look around. 
 
 But climb, climb away. 
 
 Shoot above the crowd, boys. 
 
 Brace yourself and go. 
 When you meet obstacles 
 
 Strike them with a blow. 
 
 Kuccess is at the top, boys* 
 
 Waiting there Until 
 Brain, and pluck, and self respect* 
 
 Have mounted Up the hill, 
 
 ll< KnOttVtli and Lovetli You/ 
 
 Can you count the stars that glimmer 1 
 
 lu the axure of the sky? 
 
 Do you know how many cloudlet* 
 
 O'er the world go fleeting by V 
 
 1 i"l. the Lord, has each one 
 
 Not a star or cloud *o siual) 
 
 But His \ratchf ill eye has noted, 
 
 Ootl, tlfe Fatlier, Uiunvs tlx>n> all



 
  
 Do you know how many children 
 From bright morn to close of day, 
 Free from sorrow, toil and trouble. 
 Merry hearted, laugh and play? 
 God in heaven knows and loves them, 
 Cares for all they say or do- 
 Guards them in his tender keeping 
 And he knows and loveth vou. 
 
 Industry in Children. 
 
 Proverb 22:6. 
 
 There's enough, dear children, 
 
 To do in the house, 
 To keep you as busy 
 As a little mouse. 
 
 There's enough, dear children, 
 
 To do all about, 
 And if you will try, you will 
 
 Soon find it out. 
 
 There's enough, dear children, 
 
 To do anywhere, 
 So hurry around and 
 
 Do your full share.



 
 INDUSTRY IN CHILDREN. 158 
 
 And children, whatever you 
 
 Do, do it well, 
 People always, in looking it 
 
 Over, can tell. 
 
 If mama and papa desire 
 
 You should work, 
 Go at it cheerfully, don't 
 
 Grow up a shirk. 
 
 When you are out with your 
 
 Playmates at play, 
 Make it as merry as 
 
 Bird songs in May. 
 
 And when you grow up to be 
 
 Women and men, 
 You'll know how to overcome 
 
 Kvil and sin. 
 
 The future, the future just 
 
 Over the way, 
 Is patiently looking for 
 
 A better day. 
 
 Its hanging, dear children, 
 
 Upon your hand, 
 And i* ready to march 
 
 At vour com.nand.



 
 <*>< r.ir.r/'/o.V'x i-:\in \<;, 
 
 Therefore you are soldiers, 
 Captains and guards. 
 
 Lend your playmates and he 
 Led bv A our God. 
 
 Vacation's Ending* 
 I John, 5:21. 
 
 t)ear children, the hour is near, 
 Look 'round in every nook, 
 
 And get your shite and pencil, 
 And find that absent book. 
 
 The summer's sun is sinking 
 The nights are getting cool, 
 
 Vacation's disappearing, 
 It's almost time for school. 
 
 A few more days, then Monday, 
 You'll hear the ringing bells, 
 
 Then you will all be coming 
 Vacation news to telK 
 
 Vou have had lots of play time, 
 
 Lots of recreation^ 
 Take hold of your studies no\\' 
 
 With new determination*



 
 l.|r.l77o.V> KMUMi. 
 
 It's very grand, dear children, 
 Tli sit you can go to school. 
 
 Study well each lesson and 
 Obey your teacher's rule. 
 
 A dear little girl is she, 
 
 Who likes to go to school; 
 
 A very naughty boy is he. 
 Who daily breaks the rule. 
 
 You'll have by day and by night. 
 
 Mania and teaeher sav: 
 "He good my child, do things right, 
 
 And thorough be always.." 
 
 These words on my ear doth fall, 
 And these words I must tell : 
 
 44 Whatever is done at all, 
 Is worth the doing well." 
 
 Love your mother and your teacher, 
 Love your instruction too, 
 
 Love your (Jod who rules above, 
 And to yourself be true.



 
 lf8 TELEPHONE TO HE A YEN. 
 
 Telephone to Heaven. 
 
 A little child with her aunty came 
 
 Into a certain store, 
 But the merchant was busy waiting 
 
 On those who came before ; 
 The child asked many questions and her 
 
 Aunty would reply : 
 " That's so and so. You must be quiet," 
 
 And then she'd give a sigh. 
 
 "Well, aunty, wat is dat nittle box wid 
 
 All dem strings tummin down?" 
 " Why, baby, that's a telephone where they 
 
 Talk all over town." 
 " I want to talk dat telephone." "No 
 
 Darling, not today." 
 "Well, net dat man turn talk for me 
 
 I tell him wat to say." 
 
 The merchant overheard all this and 
 
 With a pleasant smile, 
 He thought within himself what he 
 
 Would say to please the child. 
 And the child had concentrated 
 
 All its thoughts upon the 'phone, 
 'Till the merchant and the woman 
 
 And the child were all alone.



 
 TELEPHONE TO HEAVKN. 159 
 
 "Now I can wait on baby," the 
 
 Smiling merchant said, 
 As he stooped and softly toyed with 
 
 The curly little head. 
 "I want oo to tall up mama," came 
 
 The answer full and free, 
 " Wif zo telephone and ast her when 
 
 She's tummin back to me." 
 
 "Tell her I so lonesome 'at I don't know 
 
 What to do, 
 And papa cries so much I dess he must 
 
 Be lonesome too. 
 Tell her to turn dis eve'ing, tauseat night 
 
 I dit so fraid, 
 Wif no mama here to take me when the 
 
 Night dins to fade. 
 
 r- 1 
 
 And ebry day I want her, for my 
 
 Dolly's dot so tored, 
 From the awful punchen buddy give it 
 
 Wif his little sword, 
 Arid aint no body to fix it since 
 
 Mama went away, 
 And poor little lonesome kittie's ditten 
 
 Thinner every day."



 
 K XI 'K LSI* HI. 
 
 * Succt child." the merchant murmured us 
 
 He touched its anxious brow. 
 There's no telephone connection where 
 
 Your mama's living now." 
 " Aint no telephone in hearen?'' and 
 
 Tears came to her eyes, 
 "I fought dat God had everthing wif 
 
 Him up in the skies." 
 
 The woman with a heavy sigh, and 
 
 Child walked out the door, 
 And the merchant he was puzzled as 
 
 He'd never been before. 
 And he said, I'll ever strive to make 
 
 Myself a telephone, 
 Through which the little children can 
 
 All " know as thev are known.' 
 
 Excelsior. 
 
 (To the memory of Alma, a little niece, born Septeml er 
 12th, 1888, died May 80th, 1891. An angel.) 
 
 Rev. 21:11. 19:1. 
 
 'Twas in the bleak September, 
 
 The flowers were gone ; 
 AVhen our loving flower, 
 
 Dear Alma was born.



 
 11 
 
 EXCELSIOK. 
 
 The flowers came and went, 
 And came and left once more; 
 
 But when they came again, 
 Alma thought she'd go. 
 
 I asked myself the question, 
 *' Why take one so dear?" 
 
 Spoke my heart full sadly, 
 "The answer is not here." 
 
 (iod hath his mysteries, 
 Ways that we cannot tell ; 
 
 He hides them deep like a sleep, 
 Of them he loves so well. 
 
 She had played, and needed 
 
 A little wayside rest; 
 ( 1 ould she have found a better place 
 
 Than her dear Savior's breast? 
 
 Her earthly mission was love 
 
 To and from ev'ry one, 
 She's gone to be rewarded, 
 
 In lands beyond the sun. 
 
 Sleep on, precious Alma, 
 
 Take your eternal rest, 
 Mama and papa're coming 
 
 To take you to their breast.



 
  
 Weep not beloved parents, 
 The Lord, He knoweth best, 
 
 Your child's not dead but sleeping 
 In God's angelic nest. 
 
 She was radiant in beauty, 
 Perfect, glorious, bright, 
 
 God wanted her for a setting 
 In His crown of light. 
 
 When the dead now sleep in Jesus, 
 Rise in forms that are fair, 
 
 Then shall we meet our jewel, 
 Our treasure rich and rare. 
 
 Our diamond, sapphire, our ruby, 
 Our dear little opal of love, 
 
 Our pearl, most precious jewel, 
 We'll meet her in heaven above. 
 
 Where are the Boys. 
 
 A question I would like to ask, 
 To answer it may be a task. 
 But the thought cannot be masked, 
 Where are the bovs?



 
 WHERE ARK THE HOYS* 163 
 
 Congregations' service of song, 
 Thou who workest against all wrong, 
 Canst thou help us h'nd the throng? 
 Where the boys are? 
 
 Young People's Club at Baptist church, 
 Thou who for the boys doeth much, 
 Canst thou answer for us on such? 
 Where are the boys? 
 
 Epworth League at Wesley chapel, 
 Thou who for the boys doth battle, 
 Canst thou just one answer grapple ? 
 Where are the boys? 
 
 These reply to us in sadness, 
 We throw out our wings in gladness, 
 But the boys go by in sadness, 
 No boys are here. 
 
 Pastors, while at morning service, 
 Telling men of God's own mercies, 
 Baffling all these earthly curses, 
 Where are the boys? 
 
 Pastors reply with .saddened heart, 
 The true answer we cannot start, 
 When the truth we try to impart, 
 No boys are there.



 
  
 Mothers ! thou who hast all power, 
 To begin these human towers, 
 Canst thou tell at this late hour, 
 Where the boys are? 
 
 Mothers with the fashions and styles, 
 Have not time to lose with the child, 
 Hence the answer comes with a smile, 
 The boy's all right. 
 
 At half past nine o'clock at night, 
 Up and down the streets in a flight, 
 Some at play and others in lights, 
 There are the boys. 
 
 On the corners they congregate. 
 In wicked oaths they conversate, 
 With a cigarette puff they state, 
 We are not boys. 
 
 Thus they are moving down life's stream, 
 Grasping all things low and mean, 
 Soon we will hear a mother scream 
 Where is my boy? 
 
 This is the way they get their start, 
 The county farms will get their part, 
 Then we hear mother's broken heart. 
 Where is my bov?



 
 WIIKHK ARK THE BOYS? 165 
 
 Then they wish time in its flight 
 Could make him a child for one night, 
 O! on what a different plight, 
 They'd start their boy. 
 
 Too late, too late, will come the cry, 
 Neglected days have hastened by. 
 Hence we will hear both sobs and 
 
 sighs 
 
 Where is my boy? 
 
 In the year of nineteen ten, 
 There'll be a mighty call for men, 
 What can we give as answer then? 
 Where were the boys? 
 
 The nation's cancer makes a dust, 
 And moral virtue calls out thus, 
 Mothers, thou who hast all the trust, 
 Where are the boys? 
 
 Mothers! You have power to save, 
 Down life's long stream you start the 
 
 wave, 
 Mothers ! keep not our minds enslaved. 
 
 Where are the boys?



 
  
 Children's Day. 
 
 1 John, 4: 4. 
 
 Children, when you read that sweet story of old, 
 When Jesus was here among men, 
 
 How he called little children as lambs to his fold, 
 Wouldn't vou liked to have been with him 
 
 / 
 
 then? 
 
 Though you could not see His kind look when 
 he spoke, 
 
 You can only read the story 
 You are greater today while under his yoke, 
 
 Than all of Solomon's glory. 
 
 Though before our time death frost came to lie 
 Upon his warm and mighty heart, 
 
 And it quenched His bold and tender eye, 
 His spirit did not all depart. 
 
 That spirit now from thousands of pens, 
 
 Is thrown upon the lucid page, 
 It's moving, it shakes the heart of men, 
 
 In this golden, yet sinful age. 
 
 It's showing the children how to go, 
 
 To witness a part of His love, 
 And if we will seek Him here below, 
 
 We will see Him and hear Him above.



 
 CHILDREN'S DAY. 167 
 
 He's gone away, only to prepare, 
 For those whose sins are forgiven, 
 
 And many children have gathered there, 
 For such is the kingdom of Heaven. 
 
 o 
 
 Come, look in my eyes little children, 
 And tell me through all the long day, 
 
 Have you thought of your God and your Savior, 
 Who keepeth from sin all your ways? 
 
 When you go to rest little children, 
 
 Right over your innocent sleep, 
 Unseen by your vision, His angels 
 
 Their watch through the darkness doth keep. 
 
 They hearcth e'en the cry of the sparrows, 
 They caret h for great and for small; 
 
 In life and in death, little children, 
 Their love is the truest of all. 
 
 Then we'll pray that the lore which guideth, 
 The lambs that they loreth so well, 
 
 May lead you that in life's bright morning, 
 Beside the still waters you'll dwell. 
 
 Since there's a world that's beyond the grare, 
 And children are all hastening there; 
 
 While you arc in your youthful strength, 
 Incline your dear hearts to prayer.



 
  
 Put your trust not in this world, children, 
 Which has for you thousands of charms, 
 
 Though they catch the fancy a moment, 
 To the soul they all doeth harm. 
 
 We are faced by sinful influences, 
 
 But our Savior was crucified; 
 For your sins and my sins dear children, 
 
 He suffered, He languished, He died. 
 
 But He went and buried His sorrows, 
 Knowing that we all had our share; 
 
 And He opened a crystal fountain, 
 And bid children enter there. 
 
 You children were made for life's battle, 
 And God's sword is girt on your thigh ; 
 
 And the purpose of God is overthrown, 
 If you only linger and sigh. 
 
 For our lives are coinages of heaven, 
 To be spent in a coinage of love; 
 
 'Till all the realms of earth below, 
 Arc as pure as the realms above. 
 
 We are strangers, we are pilgrims, 
 
 But Christ our eternal brother, 
 Whispers from out His blood-bought throne, 
 
 "Little children, love one another.'*



 
 Til K sr.]f/'LK IfKASOX. 109 
 
 I wish thnt your thoughts so heavenly were, 
 And your hearts to Christ so given; 
 
 That all our toils, our love, our care, 
 Might lead us nearer to heaven. 
 
 Were it in my power dear children, 
 
 To set all of sin's pinions free; 
 Your paths should he pared more smoothly, 
 
 Throughout time to eternity. 
 
 Let us all try daily to forge a key, 
 
 To open the gates of heaven, 
 If we make that key the hearts of men, 
 
 The holt will be backward driven. 
 
 The Simple Reason. 
 Ill John, 1:4. 
 
 The sweet month of May was drawing to a 
 
 close. 
 
 The month of hope and promise, of leaves 
 And sunshine that clothes the earth 
 With smiles, but fills many hearts with tears, 
 By calling the victims of consumption to its 
 (ireen gloom. It was the evening of the 
 Holy Sabbath. The public worship was near 
 Over, and never since has my heart been 
 So deaplv touched u-< by the songs they sang.



 
  
 The children's voices sounded above all others. 
 They were singing, sweetly singing, 
 It was a lovely Sabbath day, 
 And the evening air was ringing, 
 About the little child, Angel May. 
 They sang of her stately sadness, 
 How 'twas whispered in heaven afar, 
 How she asked the watchman one favor. 
 To set the beautiful gates ajar, 
 "Only a little, I pray thee, 
 Set the beautiful gates ajar." 
 "I can hear my mother weeping," 
 Said the child in a trembling tone, 
 Feeling that heaven she couldn't enjoy, 
 With mother on earth alone. 
 She felt that when the gate was closed, 
 Her mother couldn't see her so far; 
 So she cried, "O angel give me the key, 
 And I'll set the gate ajar, 
 Only a little I pray thee, 
 Set the beautiful gate ajar." 
 
 The warden knew not a mother's worth, 
 Hence could not feel for the child, 
 And prompted by heavenly duty, v 
 He answered her with a smile.



 
 THE SIMPLE REASON. 171 
 
 And when the child impressed it, 
 Speaking of mother afar, 
 The warden answered "I dare not 
 Set the beautiful orates ajar," 
 In :i low calm way 1 dare not, 
 4 'Set the beautiful gate ajar." 
 Then up rose Mary the blessed, 
 The mother of the Savior of men, 
 Who knew the child's young feelings, 
 Who had motherly feelings within, 
 She laid her hand on the angel, 
 Whose feelings were just at par. 
 The warden, seeing her expression, 
 Set the beautiful gate ajar 
 Just for the sake of the mother, 
 Set the beautiful gate ajar. 
 
 Turned was the key in the portal, 
 Fell ringing the golden bar. 
 And, lo, in the little child's fingers, 
 Stood the beautiful gate ajar. 
 
 With exultation I was about to rise when 
 A stir was made, and a man rose whom 
 I can never forget. He was an old man 
 I'pon whose frame the years of a 
 Centurv had left their traces; while



 
  
 As snow his white heard hung upon his 
 Breast; and although the lower part of his 
 Face was sunken by extreme age, his eyes 
 Beamed with a fadeless benevolence and his 
 Brow had scarcely a wrinkle. They told me 
 Afterward, that he was the most loved 
 Companion of Christ and in sweetness of tem- 
 Per most like the children. 
 
 Unable to support himself, he was carried 
 Forward in the arms of his friends to the 
 Little rostrum at the end of the room. 
 All rose to greet him, and even little children 
 Looking up into his face with affectionate 
 Joy, as he whispered " Ble^s the children." 
 Having reached the stand, he attempted to 
 Speak, but failing, sunk into the arms 
 Of friends. 
 
 Eyes swam in tears, 
 
 Hearts melted in sorrow. 
 After a little, he revived. They raised 
 Him up again. He looked around like a 
 Father taking his last farewell, then 
 Stretched forth his hands above the group, 
 And, while tears ran down his cheeks, 
 He cried with tremulous voice, 
 
 "Little children love one another."



 
 Til K SIMI'LK RKAS'tX. 173 
 
 He could say no more. It was his last 
 
 Sermon. He looked around upom them again 
 
 With a smile of divine sweetness and 
 
 His lips moved, but we heard nothing. His 
 
 Eves fell upon me and with a feeble gesture 
 
 He beckoned me to him and seemed to read 
 
 My countenance. "Sir," said I, "You and 
 
 The children almost persuadest me to 
 
 Be a Christian. You are fixing to 
 
 Leave me. The children will be with me, 
 
 We are to battle life for each other. I 
 
 Pray thee leave me thy grace." 
 
 Grasping my hand he said, "I leave 
 
 You seven words, give them to the 
 
 Children, they are Faith, Hope, Charity, 
 
 Peace, Joy, Truth :md Love." 
 
 "Father," said I, "can't you tell me what is 
 
 faith?" 
 He whispered distinctly 
 
 "Faith is that which you see descending 
 Down from the realms of celestial light, 
 Something that's on the cross depending 
 (iuidiiig children through this life aright." 
 And what is hope? 
 
 " Hope has a sight which nerves the wc.-irv. 
 And all of its brightness in luster shines,



 
  
 It lights the path when all life seems dreary, 
 It cheers when all our strength declines." 
 
 And what is charity? 
 
 ' ' Charity comes in and helps soothe the dying, 
 Its ears are open to the orphan's wail, 
 It hears the voice of the homeless crying, 
 It feeds the hungry and protects the frail." 
 
 And what is peace? 
 
 "Peace is a calm, meek, tender glory, 
 That fills our souls with the pride of life, 
 It helps the youth and the age when hoary, 
 Itisfree from passion, from war, and strife." 
 
 And what is joy? 
 
 Joy comes pure as a fragrant flower, 
 Its blossoms are scattered along life's* I ream, 
 It cheers the heart in its youthfu! hours, 
 And lulls men's cares like a merry dream." 
 
 And what is truth ? 
 
 "Truth comes in a majestic splendor, 
 And its light shines in all honest souls, 
 It makes men just, in their nature tender, 
 It gives all strength to character it holds." 
 
 I will not ask you what is love, for I beliere 
 
 That is a combination of these six. 
 
 The mortal spasm now grasped him. Once 
 
 More he spake, but it was with the energy



 
 77//-; >/.!//'/,/; A'A'.ISGLV. 175 
 
 Of strong health, " Even so, Lord Jesus take 
 Me" he was asleep in death. I 
 Turned to leave and 
 
 A poor wayfaring man of grief 
 
 Was standing by my side, 
 
 Who sued my conscience for relief, 
 
 His wounded side I eyed. 
 
 He uttered not a single word. 
 But showed his nail'd print hand; 
 He saw my heart was so bestir'd, 
 He said "You understand." 
 He said "go to some mountain, 
 And call the children near; 
 You dip them in a fountain, 
 And teach their heart to fear." 
 He then left me. I am now a 
 Christian. Children I have many things to 
 Tell you, and through grace I intend 
 To tell them yet. 
 
 A week passed and one of the blandest 
 Mornings in June that ever the sun rose 
 I'pon, I visited his library and found 
 On a tablet these words: "Jesus is very 
 Precious to my soul, my all in all, and I 
 Kxpect to be saved by free grace through 
 His atoning blood. This is my testimony."



 
  
 I left the room resolving within 
 Myself to make his testimony my 
 Testimony and to 
 
 Love the children just as he did, 
 Who for love once sweetly pleaded ; 
 Trust and guide, and never doubt 
 Build a wall of love about. 
 
 But I've always loved the jewels, 
 Always thought that it was cruel, 
 To efface their youthful beauty 
 It has been a life-time duty. 
 
 Yes, I love them, I remember. 
 May is not like cold December. 
 If I've words of rage and madness, 
 Always check it from their gladness. 
 
 When my heart is tilled with kindness, 
 And to evil shows its blindness; 
 Then it's time to turn my whole heart 
 Into the porte called children's mart. 
 
 When I'm thinking of my Savior, 
 When I'm seeking good behavior; 
 When I look for earthly angels, 
 Then I with the children mingle.



 
 
 THK SLMI'LK KKASOX. HT 
 
 When the general roll is thunder'd. 
 If .ini<iiiL r the saints I'm number'd, 
 I will search that place of honor, 
 'Till I find the children's corner. 
 
 "And now little children, abide in him; 
 that, when he shall appear, we mav have con 
 fidence, and not be ashamed before him at his 
 coming." I John, 2:2X.






 
 PART III. 
 Ajax' Ordeals on Lynching.



 
 180 AJ AX' 1) UK AM. 
 
 Ajax' Dream. 
 
 Ajax of the Southland 
 
 Was walking out one day. 
 Enraptured did his spirit seem, 
 Inspired by some poetic theme, 
 
 Or heavenly array. 
 
 His gaze was running forward, 
 
 When sudden toward the sky, 
 A buzzard rose upon his wings, 
 From off a dark and ghastly thing 
 Which startled Ajax' eyes. 
 
 A hideous corpse he noticed, 
 
 He shudders, .standing there 
 His spirit feels a sharp recoil, 
 From that which taints the air and soil 
 From lack of burial care. 
 
 The lynchers had been there 
 
 And killed a Negro man: 
 They would not let his kindred come, 
 Nor even friends his corpse entomb. 
 
 Hut left it on the sand.



 
 .1./.-IA" IHtKAM. 181 
 
 Ho almost turns to leave it 
 
 But stops and turns again, 
 That carcass there was once the home 
 Of some sad soul now doomed to roam 
 
 Perhaps in endless pain. 
 
 And so this trembling Ajax 
 
 The duty does not shirk, 
 But with his unaccustomed hands 
 Piles on the corpse the dirt and sand, 
 
 And it was tedious work. 
 
 When Ajax' work was o'er 
 
 Fie said with tearful eyes, 
 "This country, call'd the * land of free,' 
 Has no protection here for me, 
 
 But whither shall we fly?" 
 
 He thought of Afric's jungles, 
 Where his ancestors roamed, 
 He thought of all the foreign lands, 
 \Vhre he thought man could IK* a man 
 Ami have protected homes, 
 
 A ship wa^s there in waiting. 
 
 Her prows turned toward the sea. 
 So Ajax said, at break of day, 
 I'll take this ship ami sail away 
 In search of !U>ertv.



 
  
 He wended his way homeward 
 
 His mind was all af right, 
 He made a hasty trip to bed, 
 And tried to doze away the dead, 
 He passed a restless night. 
 
 But while he slept a spirit, 
 
 Before him seemed to stand 
 The soul whose body on the beach 
 He covered from the buzzard's reach, 
 Who spoke with warning hand. 
 
 "Ajax." said the spirit, 
 
 " Listen to a friend's command! 
 Thou hast in mind to sail the sea 
 In search of free-born liberty, 
 This is thy native land!" 
 
 So when Ajax awoke 
 
 He formed a resolution, 
 He said this is my native land, 
 And if I make myself a man, 
 
 There'll be a revolution. 
 
 And then he closed by saying : 
 "I think I know the sequel, 
 I'll patronize my fellow man, 
 And lend him all the aid I can, 
 And thus build up my people."



 
 AJAX' SECOND DREAM. 183 
 
 Ajax' Second Dream. 
 
 I dreamed I was with the lynchers, 
 And in their arms I lay. 
 Ah me! has the vision vanished, 
 Have the demons passed away? 
 They are like a pack of hell-hounds, 
 They seek an innocent man, 
 And simply on his color 
 He dies at their command. 
 
 Sing to me songs of slavery, 
 They will cool me after my sleep, 
 And with freedom's odors fan me, 
 Till into my veins they creep, 
 For my heart is hot and restless, 
 And all of the lynchers' crimes 
 The hundreds of hanging bodies 
 Are dancing before my mind. 
 
 My soul! this lifeless nature. 
 Oppresses my brain and heart; 
 ( )h ! for a storm and thunder, 
 To sunder this world apart! 
 Stop singing, please I hate it, 
 But take up a buckle and sword, 
 And clash these human demons, 
 Till this lynching world is stirred.



 
 AfAX' SRGOX& DREAM. 
 
 Now leave me, and take from my chamber, 
 
 This wretched mosquito, and tell 
 
 The people how much he annoys me. 
 
 With his silly, tinkling bells. 
 
 Its strange, but my nerves he vexes, 
 
 A thing without blood or brain, 
 
 But ask it first please to help me 
 
 To tear the lynehers in twain. 
 
 I long for the jungles of Africa, 
 Among the wild beasts to roam, 
 Where the hissing of the reptiles, 
 Will make me feel at home; 
 In n vision I was transported, 
 To Africa in a day, 
 And through the jungles of memory, 
 Loosen 'd my fancy to play. 
 
 I wandered through the jungles, 
 
 I played with the crocodiles. 
 
 And toyed the head of the hissing asp, 
 
 As we often do n child ; 
 
 The elephant trum)eting start ed, 
 
 When he heard my footsteps near, 
 
 The kangaroo fled wildly, 
 
 Crviiiii in distressing fear.



 
 .-J./.LV *K<'->\1> DliK.lM. 18. 
 
 And I heard a wild mate roaring, 
 As the shadows of night came on, 
 To snoose in the brush beside me, 
 And the thoughts of my sleep were gone. 
 Then I roused myself from slumber 
 And sprang to my trembling feet, 
 Anxious for some one to soothe me, 
 I wandered my mate to greet. 
 
 We grasped each other on meeting, 
 
 And rolled upon the sand, 
 
 And tried our best to kill each other 
 
 How powerful he was and grand. 
 
 Then with all his might he seized me, 
 
 With a wild, triumphant cry, 
 
 That sounded like the lynchers' yell. 
 
 And the Nero's wail and sih. 
 
 
 We grappled and worried together, 
 For we both had rage that was rude, 
 And his teeth as they sank into my flesh, 
 I)rew forth the lyneh-eseaped blood. 
 But I had courage to tight him, 
 For we were but foe to foe, 
 While the lynchers come by hundreds, 
 To defend we have no show.



 
  
 Other wild beasts were vicious, 
 The lion and the grizzly bear 
 Fought for me in the moonlight, 
 While I lay crouching there. 
 Then down to the river we loitered, 
 Where the young fawns came to drink, 
 And my beast friends sprang upon them, 
 Ere they had time to shrink. 
 
 The wild beast in the jungles, 
 Had tenderer, softer hearts. 
 Than America's Anglo-Saxon, 
 In civilized Christian marts; 
 Would that I had the power 
 To touch the hearts of men, 
 And with the aid of wild beast 
 Heveal this wretched sin. 
 
 Ajax' Fright. 
 
 There's a dreadful horror 'bout me, 
 That nothing drives away ; 
 
 It's with me in my night dreams. 
 It's with me every dav.



 
 AJAX- Fiuanr. 187 
 
 It makes the night appear so short, 
 
 The bed is hard and cold; 
 It makes the days appear so long 
 
 To both the young and old. 
 
 Must I arise from out my bed, 
 
 And start my daily work? 
 The lynchers, just for meanness, will 
 
 My head from body jerk. 
 
 To die like a man by gun or shield, 
 
 Such a death I do not fear ; 
 No other death 'Id be worst to feel, 
 
 Than to leave my loved ones here. 
 
 But fear of being lynched for naught 
 
 Makes all one's senses start; 
 To be chased by hounds and hell-hounds 
 
 Draws pangs to bleeding hearts. 
 
 I hear the hell-hounds yelping, 
 They're coming 'cross the plain ; 
 
 With bloodshot eyes and gnashing teeth, 
 For blood of a Negro's veins. 
 
 I've never harmed a white man, 
 
 They can't be after me; 
 But oh! when they're blood thirsty, 
 
 Innocence is no plea.



 
 188 
 
 There's stirring in my back yard, 
 There's fumbling under my floor, 
 
 Great God they seem to smell me ! 
 The Ivnchers are at mv door! 
 
 Ajax* Soliloquy. 
 
 Riches, which once I held in light esteem, 
 And inspired me now I laugh to scorn ; 
 And lust of fame which was an ideal dream, 
 Has vanished from me with the morn. 
 
 When in my solitary room I sit, 
 And try to see where life presents a bloom ; 
 Not one fair dream before my mind's eye flits, 
 But hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom. 
 
 My heart aches, instead of night rest, HIT 
 
 dreams 
 
 Are anxious, that a cup filled up with drugs 
 For me to drink, and leave the world unseen. 
 And go and be a feast to hungry bugs. 
 
 Would I could fade, dissolve, go and forget 
 That I upon the earth was ever known, 
 For all these crimes, the fever and the fret, 
 All we can do is heir each other groan.



 
 .I/.I.V KIMHlKlf* s 
 
 There is something painful :m<i sad to see, 
 "r\voul<l shock the red man looking fora scalp: 
 A human body hanging from a tree, 
 A white man's victim that had been entrap' tl. 
 
 I often prav, but the only touching p raver. 
 That from my heart doth move my lips for me, 
 Is, "You may have the heart that now I bear. 
 Hut give my mind and body liberty." 
 
 <) spirit, () spirit of the other land. 
 Turn here your voice and in a whisper say: 
 44 O Ajaz ! () Ajax ! come from that stand, 
 And dwell with me in a brighter day." 
 
 I'm pondVmg, I'm wond'ring, I'm thinking, 
 If this world intends to ever get right; 
 It's reeling, it's shaking, it's sinking, 
 Let my soul join the blue bird's flight. 
 
 Ajax* Kindred's Soliloquy. 
 
 In Africa. 
 
 Thelhoughtsof the future doth pu/xlemy mind, 
 And O how I shudder at flitting of time: 
 It seems that it's hast'ning that dreadful day. 
 When no when- in this dull earth I can stay. 
 The power?, of Kurope are taking my land. 
 And siftinir it out at their own command.



 
  
 They do not attempt to civilize me, 
 
 But use all their efforts to make me flee. 
 
 Where in this broad domain can I fly, 
 
 My body to rest and my mind satisfy? 
 
 That land called the Star Spangled Banner of 
 
 free, 
 Toward which all the nations at one time did 
 
 flee, 
 
 My countryman Ajax who dwells over there, 
 Relates that which straightens my sun kinked 
 
 hair, 
 
 He tells me they lynch, tar and burn the Negro, 
 And mangle them worse than the cruel Nero, 
 He tells me to stav here and dodge the wild 
 
 tf 
 
 beast, 
 
 It's easier than being the lyncher*' love feast, 
 The isles of the sea are all filled up they say, 
 I wish a ne.w mountain would rise in a day ; 
 The fox and the panther, the birds of the air, 
 They all have a home in this world somewhere, 
 The sun shines resplendent in its bright degree, 
 Dame nature is pleasant, all happy but me, 
 I long for the wings of the blue bird of flight, 
 To flee from this plain and in mid ocean light, 
 And there put an end to these heart-bleeding 
 
 sighs,



 
 A-/ AX' MO AT. Ml-: AT. 191 
 
 And banish the tears from my long weeping 
 
 eyes. 
 
 O God! is the time ever coining again 
 When I can .sec peace in this broad domain? 
 If not take me now in the palm of thy hand, 
 And fling me away from this blood-shedding 
 
 land. 
 
 And if I don't land in thy mansions all fair, 
 Just fling me until I am nothing but air. 
 The lynchers, the lynchers are here by the 
 
 throng ! 
 My Savior, my Savior, O, why was I born. 
 
 Ajax' Monument. 
 
 When in the shadow of the tomb, 
 
 My heart shall rest, 
 Please lay me where spring flowers bloom 
 
 On earth's jrreen breast. 
 
 r- 
 
 Please never in vaulted box place 
 
 My lifeless frame, 
 For it is not the best of grace, 
 
 Yes, I am sane.



 
 In some sweet village of the dead 
 
 I'd like to sleep, 
 Where flowers may deck my little bed, 
 
 Where angels creep. 
 
 And if the children in their roam 
 
 Know not the spot; 
 Enough if but by lore alone, 
 
 I'm not forgot. 
 
 But I'm a Negro and I need 
 
 Not so lament, 
 For never did a lyncher's creed 
 
 Say " monument." 
 
 My God, will the time ever be, 
 
 When I can have 
 Pure thoughts without the lyn* JUTS' glee 
 
 To make me swear? 
 
 Ajax' Song. 
 
 (Tune: " Tenting en the Old Camp Ground.") 
 
 We are thinking today of the loved ones lost, 
 Gone through the lynchers' hand; 
 
 Of the innocent men who have gone across 
 The bridge where villains stand.



 
 AJAX' SONG. 193 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Many arc the hearts that are mourning today, 
 Mourning for the loved ones mobbed, 
 
 Many are the eyes full of tears that say, 
 Why are we left in sobs? 
 
 Help us to say, "Humbly we pray, 
 Father, is it brighter ahead?" 
 
 We are hoping today that the Christian world, 
 Will yet see the matter straight ; 
 
 And will see that this question is all unfurl'd, 
 Before time replies, "too late!" 
 
 CHORUS: Many are the hearts, etc. 
 
 We are praying today to our God on high, 
 
 To wrestle this lynching age ; 
 To listen to the widow's and orphan's cry, 
 
 That's caused by this outrage. 
 
 CHORUS: Many are the hearts, etc. 
 
 We are weeping today but the hour will come, 
 
 When the lynchers all shall see 
 That America is the Negro's home, 
 
 And here he's bound to be. 
 
 CHORUS: Manv are the hearts, etc.



 
  
 Ajax* Meditations. 
 
 If I should die 
 
 Today or tomorrow, 
 
 And my soul fly, 
 
 Into bliss or sorrow, 
 Would any who never saw my face, 
 Know that on this earth I had filled a place? 
 
 If I should sail 
 
 Away on some great ship, 
 
 And in a gale 
 
 Should end my earthly trip, 
 Would anyone while riding o'er the waves, 
 Remember me while in my wat'ry grave? 
 
 If I should stray, 
 Way off in the wild woods, 
 And be the prey 
 To vicious wild beasthood, 
 Would future men while lev' ling down the plain, 
 Know that I'd ever been in this domain? 
 
 If I, at home, 
 
 Were quietly sleep in bed ; 
 
 And lynchers roamed, 
 
 To tar arid burn my head, 
 
 They would prevent my friends from burying me 
 Could future men say that I used to be ?



 
 .17.1 A" MEDITATION*. 19o 
 
 If when I'm dead, 
 The future children come, 
 With joyous tread 
 And human beating drums, 
 Will they while either at their work or play, 
 Remember that poor Ajax had a day? 
 
 Songsters will sing, 
 While I am dead and gone ; 
 Their echo'll ring, 
 And thrill the living throng, 
 Will any songs remind the living men, 
 That poor Ajax upon the earth has been? 
 
 A cent'ry hence, 
 
 While boys and girls in school, 
 
 Upon the bench 
 
 Obey the teacher's rule, 
 
 Will any book show them the deeds and acts, 
 Of trembling, poor, despis'd, oppress'd Ajax? 
 
 God hold my hand, 
 And give me power to write, 
 Give me command, 
 That I may say what's right. 
 I'll write a book before I leave this land, 
 To show tho world that Ajax was a man.



 
  
 A Mother's Rage. 
 
 Fruits of Lynching. 
 
 A mother stood at the river brink 
 
 Holding in her arms a dear child, 
 'Twas all on earth that the mother had, 
 
 And she said with a sacred smile : 
 " Your father did all a man could do 
 
 To live for you and for me ; 
 But the wicked lynchers murdered him, 
 
 Irrespective of mother's plea." 
 
 She says, " I know whereof I speak, 
 
 In the sight of these my own eyes, 
 Your father said in a mournful tone: 
 
 'Dear wife, kiss the baby good-bye,' 
 And that was the last I heard of him ; 
 
 I knew not the lynchers' plan. 
 The world is witness to one true fact, 
 
 Thy father was an honest man. 
 
 But honesty in this fast age, 
 
 In regards to the dusky race 
 Has carried many 'cross the dark stage, 
 
 And brought to the whites a disgrace. 
 If this mode of death is continued, 
 
 Why should I leave you, my dear boy, 
 To have your life blotched with such sights, 
 
 Such a life you cannot enjoy !



 
 .1 MoTlIKtfS KAtiK. 197 
 
 My child, I am almost tempted now 
 
 To throw thee into this river, 
 And let thy soul go wandering back 
 
 To Him who is the great forgiver. 
 For then thy mother will be satisfied 
 
 That thou art in God's tender care, 
 For another death like thy father's 
 
 Thy mother, she can never bear. 
 
 And then, my child when you have passed 
 
 Beyond earth's shadows and its teachings, 
 When Paradise is reached at last, 
 
 Brought to you by the Lord's entreating, "~ 
 When starry crowns shall deck your brow, 
 
 And white robes to you be given, 
 My child, you can't imagine now, 
 
 How sweet 'twill 1x3 in heaven. 
 
 The "many mansions" high in air 
 
 Will glearn with more than earthly splendor, 
 And the shining angels, pure and fair, 
 
 Will greet you with a love most tender ; 
 Your head in grief shall never bow 
 
 But rapturous joy'll to you be givn, 
 My child, you can't imagine now 
 
 How sweet 'twill be in heaven.



 
 19S AJAX* 
 
 But oh ? my child my heart repines, - 
 
 How horrible would be the guilt 
 When in after years it corner to mind 
 
 That your blood was by mother spilt 
 My child, I cannot bear to think 
 
 Of throwing thee into the tide ; 
 But oh r the lynchers ! the lynchers I 
 
 The mother fainted! and died. 
 
 Ajax* Bashfulness.- 
 
 I was once out of social circles, 
 As bashful a-s a young man could be; 
 And I wondered if all society 
 Could m-ake a socialist of me. 
 
 1 wandered on in my ba&hfuTness, 
 Nothing socially good could I see ; 
 And the thought filled my heart with sad 
 ness, 
 No socraV redemption for mev 
 
 I vrent to a tmvn on probation, 
 And my bashf umess^ followed me r 
 And while in deep meditation, 
 A voice gently whispered to me*.



 
 A.TAT 
 
 It was the voice of a social dub, 
 That was speaking so kindly to me^ 
 And I heard its social improvements 
 Saying tenderly, *'come unto me." 
 
 I went to the club very shyly. 
 They gladly accepted of me, 
 But I told them I was so bashful, 
 A socialist I never could be. 
 
 And I found that while it was social, 
 Some other things they'd review; 
 There was moral's tie and culture's trend. 
 They ever had in view. 
 
 The first time that they called on me, 
 I didn't have very much blood, 
 But all I hud to my head did flee, 
 And I felt like social mud. 
 
 And when I got through theyallclapMme, 
 "*Twas not about what I said ; 
 But they were, through sympathy, 
 Clapping the blood from my head, 
 
 We next had the social jubilee, 
 And from my heart I wondered", 
 If any girl there would talk to me 
 A simple, social blunder.



 
  
 And when I came to myself again, 
 I was drifting down the tide; 
 I was in the boat for the social port, 
 With a ladv on each side. 
 
 Ajax Looks Beyond. 
 
 I have tried to be contented 
 In this land of vale and tears, 
 When I think how Christ, the Savior, 
 Suffered here without a fear ; 
 But the way that I am treated 
 In this low slough of despond, 
 Makes me long to be transported 
 To the calm, unknown beyond, 
 
 I am longing for a moment 
 
 When I can this country leave ,' 
 
 For some unknown, peaceful city, 
 
 Where the} r never sigh or grieve, 
 
 W T here the mansions glow with beauty, 
 
 Which to mortals is unknown ; 
 
 I am waiting, I am longing 
 
 In those brighter realms to roam.



 
 AJAX VOTES FOR MCKINLKY. 201 
 
 I am longing for the breaking 
 Of the day when I'll be free, 
 And can leave behind the heartaches, 
 And toward my Savior flee; 
 When I shall to lynching horrors, 
 In this cold world bid adieu, 
 I am waiting, I am longing, 
 And my race is waiting too. 
 
 Ajax Votes for McKinley. 
 
 Ajax went out to vote 
 
 On election day ; 
 White man was standing 'round, 
 
 Things had gone his way. 
 
 Ajax had heard before 
 How the white man done, 
 
 Made Negroes vote with him 
 Or, he had a gun. 
 
 White man said to Ajax, 
 "Well, how do you stand?" 
 
 Ajax said to white man, 
 "Straight republican."



 
  
 White man said to Ajax, 
 "Leave the poles at once." 
 
 Ajax said to white man, 
 "You must be a dunce." 
 
 White man said to Ajax, 
 "You don't mean to go?" 
 
 Ajax said to white man, 
 "While I'm livingNo!" 
 
 Ajax said, quite raging, 
 "This thing's got to stop, 
 
 Bossing Negroes' voting, 
 No more'll be a sop." 
 
 White man saw that Ajax 
 Was not like the rest ; 
 
 Could not be bluffed away 
 With a little jest. 
 
 White man said to Ajax, 
 ' Why are you so bold?" 
 
 Ajax said to white man, 
 "Mj rights to control." 
 
 White man said to Ajax, 
 "I don't mean to fight." 
 
 Ajax said to white man, 
 "I'm for peace and right."



 
 AJAX VOTES FOR MrKINLKY. 203 
 
 White man said to Ajax, 
 
 "Drop your war-like game." 
 
 Ajax said to white man, 
 "When you do the same." 
 
 White man said to Ajax 
 " What'll you do to me?" 
 
 Ajax said to white man, 
 "Hit me and you'll seel' 
 
 White man said to Ajax, 
 "This will never do." 
 
 Ajax said to white man, 
 " Sir, the same to you." 
 
 White man said to Ajax, 
 "I'll the diet try." 
 
 Ajax said to white man, 
 "Thank you, so will I." 
 
 Ajax showed the white man 
 Me knew how to fight ; 
 
 White man showed to Ajax 
 He could treat him rifht.



 
 204 AJAX' 
 
 Ajax' Conclusion. 
 
 My friends, our race is ostracised, 
 Long standing tears are in our eyes, 
 And we as meek and humble doves, 
 Endure it all with smiles and love. 
 And those who try to crush us down 
 Return our smiles in hateful frowns, 
 So we must rise and strike a blow, 
 When e'er these demons block our door. 
 
 As long as we retreat from them, 
 
 They'll use us as their limber-jim, 
 
 But if we punishments resist, 
 
 The white man'll know that we exist, 
 
 And if we all united stand, 
 
 We can our rights as men demand; 
 
 But we must show determination, 
 
 Instead of meek disconsolation. 
 
 The red man showed that he would tight, 
 This country gave him certain rights, 
 They never lynch an Indian chief, 
 They know his friends come to relief, 
 The foreigner from 'cross the sea, 
 Has all the rights of liberty, 
 Because if humans take his scalp, 
 His countrymen will raise a scrap.



 
 AJAX* CONCLUSION. 205 
 
 The rattlesnake, the white man dreads, 
 And on his body will not tread, 
 Because he knows the rattlesnake, 
 If touched, will to'ard the toucher make. 
 The harmless ant upon the ground, 
 Men trample on without a frown, 
 If we resist, we'll gain respect, 
 If we unite 'twill take effect. 
 
 There must be some blood shed by us, 
 When Southern brutes begin to fuss, 
 Some Brown and Turner' ve got to die, 
 To picture to the demon's eye 
 The fact that we are in this land 
 To stay, 'till God gives us command 
 To move away, and until then, 
 We must be recognized as men. 
 
 We made the South-land with our toil, 
 And we intend to share the spoil, 
 But sometimes it seems just as well 
 To have a residence in hell. 
 Poor men are cut and burnt like fuel, 
 The country does not call it cruel. 
 Someone must rouse this base-ball ar-. 
 To overcome this black outrage.



 
  
 Who's more fit to defend this right, 
 Than we who've seen these wicked sights? 
 Stern freedom's voice bids us arise, 
 Our patient ways she does despise, 
 Contentment makes real life decay. 
 Brave discontent brings brighter day, 
 What we are now, the past has made, 
 The future's on our shoulders staid. 
 
 Ajax is Chastised. 
 
 Ajax, in the stillness of the night, 
 
 Lie down and take thy rest ; 
 Live in the dreams of the starry light 
 
 As the bird in its nest. 
 
 This world is filled with sorrow and shame, 
 
 With sin, with tumult rife; 
 But as metal is fused by the flame, 
 
 So men are made by strife. 
 
 Ere long from now, thy feet may turn 
 
 From this distressing mood ; 
 So lose the thought that men are burned, 
 
 And help to make life good.



 
 A./ A X AT THE CENTENNIAL. 207 
 
 And Ajax, though it wounds and grieves, 
 We grow strong by lees of pain, 
 
 So shelter your heart against the thieves, 
 And be thyself again. 
 
 You have your life, why not be glad? 
 
 For the gift of life is good; 
 But the lessons of life are sfreat and sad 
 
 To thy dear brotherhood. 
 
 So turn your back on the sinful ways. 
 
 And blend the race together; 
 Let us unite for a brighter day, 
 
 And help to make life better. 
 
 Ajax at the Centennial. 
 
 1897- 
 
 Ajax went over to Nashville, 
 To attend the great centennial ; 
 And a white man asked him rashly 
 About the race in general. 
 
 "Ajax, tell me the whole se-juel: 
 Your father was my father's slave, 
 And now you stand as my e<jual, 
 On this educational wave."



 
 2C8 AJAX AT THE CENTENNIAL. 
 
 And Ajax paused for a moment, 
 Slightly hanging down his head; 
 And then from the depth of conscience, 
 These are the words that he said : 
 
 "You know it was sixteen-nineteen, 
 When my first African brother, 
 Sailed over here in a canteen, 
 And called America his mother. 
 
 He climbed up degradation's hill, 
 
 Two hundred and fifty years ; 
 
 And over the Israelitic rills, 
 
 He waded through heartaches and tears 
 
 In his efforts to leave degradation, 
 He was cramped, doomed in a cell ; 
 Dishearten'd,discontent'd, discourag'd, 
 By a prejudice born in hell. 
 
 But through God's work, who guides 
 
 man's life, 
 
 The world's second Moses came; 
 And through the sea of civil strife, 
 Brought freedom instead of shame. 
 
 From there we started out in life, 
 To make a mark as a race; 
 But someone's ever causing strife, 
 Brin<nn<jf on us a disgrace.



 
 A.I A X A T THE VENTKNNl A/.. 2<W 
 
 You take the thousand oppressions, 
 That are hurled into our face; 
 And change them to progression, 
 Then we will be a race. 
 
 My sir, it is a will-known fact, 
 That the Negroes' aim is high, 
 And if they'll stop holding him back, 
 He'll reach them unless he dies. 
 
 He's in the national government, 
 He's been a military man; 
 And in these United States, 
 He's been surveyor of lands. 
 
 He's widely known in medicine, 
 He's faced millions as teacher; 
 Thundered his eloquence at the bar, 
 He can't be excelled as preacher. 
 
 And in hundreds of newspapers, 
 He tones up ideas and thoughts ; 
 In connection with his people, 
 To show what they have wrought. 
 
 A- for a Southern laboring man, 
 His equal cannot be found; 
 And to find a regular Negro tramp. 
 You must search the countrv 'round.



 
  
 In scholarship he's stood the test, 
 In the institute's at home; 
 And 'cross the sea without a jest, 
 His eloquence is known. 
 
 He's writing poetry books and prose, 
 To scatter over the land ; 
 To show the depth from which he 'rose, 
 The height where now he stands. 
 
 A hundred thousand students now, 
 Behind the study desk ; 
 Have fix'd a frown upon their brow, 
 They will not be oppressed. 
 
 I think I see the coming time, 
 When this curs'd lynching land; 
 Will see the Negro's worth sublime, 
 And claim him as a man. 
 
 And my dear sir, fifty years hence, 
 When your grandchildren stand ; 
 Ajax grandchildren's recompense, 
 Will show an equal man. 
 
 A hundred years from now my friend, 
 Could you and I peep back ; 
 We cannot tell vour children then, 
 From those of poor Ajax.



 
 .l./.l.V .l/'/'A'.l/, TO AMKIt/CA. 211 
 
 Ajax' Appeal to America. 
 
 My country, noble spectre of the past; 
 Along thy rivers, and within thy vales, 
 There breathes a deep-toned voice, that tells 
 
 of days, 
 
 When thou wert called thecountry of the free 
 Admiredand frequented; when pilgrim 'd hosts 
 Trod thy sanctomed shores, and music filled 
 The air with freedom. Broad hearts of men 
 Were thine, in bonds of union ; and around, 
 The voice of love and happiness arose. 
 Voluptuous life enkindled every heart 
 But as time moved on in silence, 
 A dreadful change took place, 
 The great Abe. Lincoln wept, he saw the wreck 
 That slavery scattered 'round him and he 
 
 mourned 
 To think that scenes so bright should fade so 
 
 soon. 
 
 Thou wa^t a marvelous country, ere the star 
 That lit the way to Bethlehem, gleamed the 
 
 east , 
 
 And heralded a Savior and perhaps, 
 Thy shores resounded with the hum of men, 
 NVlien Ajax on the Afrie shores did live.



 
  
 Thou wast a brilliant mystery- and from far, 
 The nations of the earth poured into thee. 
 Thou prospered well, now four wars, 
 Stamped upon thy flag, but these four wars, 
 And four timesfourlarge warsof ancient times, 
 Could not shed blood enough to cover up 
 The principle that underlies the greatest 
 Of all wars, that's waged by thee 'gainst thine, 
 Andthoucould'st with one stroke exterminate. 
 Thou claimes't to be a Christian country, 
 And rankest with highly civilized countries, 
 And there is nothing in the category of crime, 
 Or in the history of savages to surpass those- 
 Fiendish, blood-chilling horrors perpetrated 
 
 against 
 My people by your Christians. The southern 
 
 mob, 
 
 When in its rage feeds its vengancc by shoot 
 ing, 
 
 Stabbing and burning men alive, which only 
 Some disgusting birds and beasts, would do. 
 And to plead "not guilty" is a waste of time, 
 For when the mob's will has been accomplish- 
 
 ed, 
 
 And its thirst for blood has by its bands been 
 quenched.



 
 .17. 1 A" Ar/'KAL To AMKIilrA. 21:5 
 
 And the victim is speechless, silent, dead, 
 Then the moboeratic amusers have the ear of 
 The world all to themselves, and the world 
 Listens to them because thy noble govern 
 ment, 
 
 Planted by the Pilgrim Fathers, Defended by 
 Noble Washington and regenerated by God- 
 sent Lincoln 
 
 Urges it on and it widens as the waters 
 Of the Mississippi entering the great gulf. 
 And those am users who so bravelv kill, would 
 
 V 
 
 flee 
 
 Like Phantoms if brought face to face with that 
 Great law on which thv forces move. 
 
 v 
 
 The foreigner 
 
 Who looks across the sea, and never comes, 
 Thinks thou art great, magnanimous and brave, 
 And we have heartily hoped that this estimate, 
 Would soon cease to be contradicted. Instead 
 
 our 
 
 Confidence in thy nobility as a nation has been 
 Shaken and the future all looks dark 
 And troubled. This tends to dim the lustre 
 Of thy noble name and to obliterate the 
 Cause of liberty which thou hast sung to the 
 
 world.



 
 214 AJAX* Al'I'KAL TO AMKRH'A. 
 
 Thy moral sense is now on a decline and we 
 May well ask the question " how low " someof 
 Thy safe guards are swept away. Supreme 
 Courts are surrendered, State sovereignly i? 
 Restored, Civil rights are destroyed, men 
 
 are 
 
 Lynched like beast of the forest. What next ? 
 Emmigration wont save us for we are convinced 
 That this is our native land. Neither will 
 Colonization redeem us for we are colonized 
 To day upon the land that gave us birth. 
 Think, O America, of the sublime and glorious 
 Truths with which, at thy birth, thou saluted 
 A listening world. Thy voice was then the 
 Trump of an archangel, summoning oppres 
 sion, 
 And time-honored tyranny to inherit the sweet 
 
 V V 
 
 Freedom of thy shores. The oppressed flock 
 ed to tbee. 
 
 Crowned heads trembled, toiling millions 
 
 Chipped for joy. Brotherhood, equality* liber 
 ty, 
 
 And truth were the inviting feature*. 
 
 You redeemed the world from the bondage 
 
 Of ages, was it to enslave them again? 
 
 And not only to enslave them but slaughter



 
 J./.-IA" APPKAL To AM Kit Jr A. 21.1 
 
 than the unspeakable Turks do 
 The Armenians, or the dread Spaniards 
 Do the Cubans. Are th,e horrors of Siberia, 
 Against the thriving Jew to be exceeded 
 By thy Christian crimes? 
 
 To thee 
 
 One came in humble guise, upon whose brow 
 A sweet harmonious peace in beauty shone. 
 Towards portals of peace, the heroic Ida Wells 
 Reposed within thy house, and talked of right. 
 Oh, had thy powers then but heard her voice, 
 And trod the way she pointed, then with thee 
 This darkness would have ended, and this 
 
 crime 
 Which hangs about thy neck, would hang no 
 
 more. 
 Rut, hit-king the \vanu hope that filled her 
 
 breast, 
 To cheer the rose-lipped nymph in her great 
 
 work, 
 
 She down-cast minded, but determined soul 
 Keptn sujwrior thought and crossed the sea. 
 From thy great name she could have told 
 Of the bright mansions in the freeman's land: 
 < )Yr which no night descended, From herlips, 
 The foreign nations could have learned of love



 
  
 And friendship, such as this lynched land of ours 
 Can show no sign or symbol. 
 
 Ida's faith 
 
 Was weak and wavering, and she opened up 
 The eyes of Christian nations far across the 
 Sea who've been in darkness and misled 
 For quite a while. And they do think that 
 When a nation's moral tone is on the decline, 
 We well may wonder what will be the depth. 
 Thou art declining noble state ! and the breath 
 Of pestilence among thy lynching towns 
 Sweeps to and fro, and in the place, 
 Where Lincoln's armies rode, there lies a 
 
 shade, 
 
 That of late days have gathered like a pall. 
 A midnight hangs upon thee not alone 
 This lynching crime, but the dim eclipse 
 Of moral desolation. Heaven's frown 
 Is visible around thee. Rise! thou wreck 
 Of slf downfall, and call upon thy God 
 If alone, so that those within thy bound, 
 This land so dark and cheerless, may not 
 See the bright day of hope in gloom go down I 
 But where protection, which is life and light, 
 Broods ever like the grandure of the stars, 
 That studs the summer skies of boundless 
 
 blue.



 
 .I./.I.V 1) HAT II. 217 
 
 Ajax* Death. 
 
 (A UKA.MA.) 
 DKAMA1 IS PERSON vK : 
 
 ELI. 
 
 KAMECII, wife of ELI. 
 A.TAX, their son. 
 JOBEL their infant child. 
 Time between 18'JO and 11)00, A.D. 
 Scene A mountain near the Mississippi river 
 where no one inhabits. 
 
 ELI. 
 
 Its awful the way our people are lynched. 
 Its a shame we are driven to this 
 Desolate place to save our lives, simply 
 Because I had some influence among 
 My people and refused to use it to 
 Suit the white man and injure my people. 
 I hare invoked my god without response. 
 What else can I do? 
 
 RAMKCII. 
 
 Name not thy gods, for I condemn' them. 
 For they have urged to curse thy destiny, 
 And brought on us this dcsolatcspot as home.



 
 8 .17. 1 A" ItKATIT. 
 
 ELI. 
 
 Don't condemn me, O Ramech ! I may err 
 In my imploring, bnt should I not pray? 
 
 RAMKCII. 
 
 Pray to the God above. You know I oft 
 Remind you of our wickedness, and warn 
 You of this Southern god, the white man 
 Of this degenerate who despises you, and 
 Whom I despise and you often adore, 
 But I will not rebuke thee, dear. 
 
 ELI. 
 
 For six long days have we been in this place, 
 Our house all gone and of our stock, 
 Notone remains. My soul ! There is no hope. 
 Heaven is closed and Negro men must die. 
 Ramech pray to your God. 
 
 RAMECH. 
 I have, and oft. But Eli we are doomed! 
 
 ELI. 
 
 And have we merited this fearful death, 
 This slow consuming agony, this famine, 
 Cold and pain, and O my God still more, 
 This inward consciousness of griefs stored up 
 Fora long time yet! Look how our flocks 
 Are all swept off, our gathered crops ; 
 Our children dead, but one, and we as outcasts



 
 .l./.LV DEATH. 219 
 
 From our homes waiting for death to come 
 We were betteroff before Abe Lincoln freed 
 us. 
 
 .Jo BEL. 
 
 Mama, I am hungry. Have you no bread? 
 My feet are wet and cold. 
 
 RAM ECU. 
 
 My precious child! I have no bread. 
 O God protect my child ! 
 JOBEL. 
 
 Some bread mama, just a little bread. 
 My feet are so cold. 
 
 RAMECH. 
 
 (Falling on her knees) 
 () precious God ! 
 
 Thou knowest the secrets of our hearts, Thou 
 Knowest my unworthiness. Not for myself 
 Ask I thy mercy, but for my child. Lord 
 O spare my child, my precious child. 
 He hath not wronged the lynchers. 
 
 KLI. 
 
 Hamech, I dreamed last night that our 
 Long departed Ajax had got home, and 
 Though he left us before the war I feel 
 Somehow he's yet alive and will 
 Visit us before we die. Its thirtv-Hve



 
 II .11 AX' DKAT1I. 
 
 Years since we've seen him, he's changed I 
 know. 
 
 RAMECH. 
 
 Heaven forbid that he should come to us 
 While in this valley of sorrows. 
 
 ELI. 
 
 I see upon the river a skiff which 
 Contains a boy, an aged looking boy. 
 And from my heart he looks much like our 
 Ajax. 
 
 RAMKCII. 
 
 It can't be so, what, Ajax, Ajax 
 The lost boy long before old 
 Abe did set us free ! Eli you dream. 
 (A long silence) 
 
 ELI. 
 
 That's him, he's coming to die with us. 
 Ajax comes up. 
 
 RAMECH. 
 
 Ajax my boy ! Whence comest thou? 
 Where have you been? Hast thou forgotten 
 me? 
 
 (Fa! Is in his anfls) 
 
 AJAX. 
 
 No mother, dear; how could that be? 
 Thank God we've met but near our family 
 grave,



 
 AJ. I A" ItKATII. 221 
 
 Father, ere this, is ripe in age. lie was 
 In his sixtieth year when Grant fought so. 
 
 YAA. 
 Ajax, what have you son, we perish. 
 
 A.TAX. 
 
 Nothing have I: big piles I had but 
 
 In this land of lynching what ever we have 
 
 We have not. Thelynchers envied my 
 
 Success and it was left with me 
 
 To lose my life or mv earthly wealth. 
 
 I took the one you see me with here. 
 
 ELI. 
 
 I'm old, I'm cold, I'm hungry, I'm dying, 
 I yield to all. 
 
 RAMKCII. 
 
 (irie\ not, \ve shall not die of 
 Hunger. Before another night thelynchers 
 Will be here. They want our blood 
 Because itis innocent blood. Lets mot repine. 
 
 JOHE. 
 
 Mother I'm sick, this ground is wet to me. 
 
 KAMKCII. 
 
 To sec tlier suffer in the bloom of life, 
 Thou whom I watched arid cheered to 
 Sec ihcc perish thus- () (iod .



 
  
 JOBEL. 
 
 Mama I'm cold has the bread come? 
 RAMKCII . 
 
 for the days when as a slave I worked. 
 Thy life would then be spared. But Lincoln 
 Freed us. Why are we not free now? 
 
 Is Lincoln yet alive, and Grant? O God 
 Blot these remarks from my memory. 
 She weeps. 
 
 AJAX. 
 
 Mother, fret not o'er thoughts like these 
 Let us pray God and wait our doom. 
 
 RAMECH. 
 
 My Lord. My infant child and I once 
 Thought that you were dead. But tell me 
 How did you live, we waited long for 
 Thee to come but all in vain. 
 
 A.i AX. 
 
 We parted sold as mules. You 
 With my father's owner, he in another drove. 
 And I in a disgraceful to some one else. 
 
 1 kept up with you all, until 
 
 The mighty struggle came that freed 
 Us all and effaced your whereabouts. 
 I started out in search of you and 
 Prosperity. I lived (juite well but



 
 .17. 1 A" I) EM II. ^:$ 
 
 Seeking higher si ill, the white man 
 Envied me, and hence my life was his 
 When he saw fit, and eighteen years, 
 I've wandered up and down this world 
 In search of one dear spot where I could 
 Rest in peace. It must be 
 Here to die with you. At first 
 I feared to land. 
 
 God, this lynching world is full of sin. 
 
 RAMECH. 
 
 Despite our griefs, I will believe, dear boy, 
 That Providence hath brought thee here to 
 
 me. 
 That we might die together. 
 
 A.TAX. 
 
 Mother what awful sights I've seen 
 
 1 oft have wished that I had died when young, 
 Before this dreadful calamity. My blood 
 Don't move, my mind deranged turns, at 
 
 what 
 
 I've seen this day. The carcases of 
 Men with that of oxen, sheep and hogs 
 Did float together down the stream. 
 I saw two brothers take a stand for right 
 And there ihev stood, until the lynchers 
 ('nine and made the one take the life



 
  
 Of the other murder his mother's son, 
 The one who did this work to save his life 
 Lay down exhausted. Then the lynchers 
 
 took 
 
 His life by slow process and left him there. 
 The famished buzzards came to his rescue 
 And tore the quivering flesh. In vain the 
 
 man 
 Fought this ntw foe till breath was gone. 
 
 w t? 
 
 ELI. 
 Didst thou see this? 
 
 A.1AX. 
 
 That is not half. 
 
 RAMKCII. 
 
 Then name it not. I've heard enough. 
 I'm sick at heart. 
 
 AJAX. 
 I saw my God I cannot tell. 
 
 ELI. 
 
 Tell on. The woes of others told to us 
 May steel us to our own. 
 
 AJAX. 
 
 I saw a barge of logs loaded down, 
 
 With human beings, manacled, emaciated, 
 
 Ghastly. They sang and howled out prayers,



 
 AJAX 1 DEATH. 225 
 
 And curses and laughter. It was horrid. 
 With hauds outstretched, they beckoned me 
 To come, but I stood off and watched 
 And heads of men were thrown at me in 
 
 rage. 
 
 I further noticed a partly eaten body 
 Mangled and bruised. I shrieked aloud. 
 And then I saw a sight that captured all. 
 A mother, deathly clad, who in her arms, 
 Upheld a child. She cast her eyes on high, 
 And then she cast her infant from her. 
 It sank beneath the waves and was gone. 
 A mother drowned her own dear child. 
 
 RAMECH. 
 My God this lynching world. 
 
 AJAX. 
 
 Hush ? I hear the howl of dogs. 
 
 ELI. 
 
 My son, 'tis but the winds. No human 
 Being in this wild place save us. And the 
 " Star Spangled Banner" as that say goes 
 Doesn't wave here. Me think that song's 
 a myth. 
 
 AJAX. 
 Again I hear the dogs. I'm not deceived. 
 
 15



 
  
 Mother I dreamed last night I saw 
 
 A mountain moving on the waves, 
 
 And it had all the semblance of a house, 
 
 And my bewildered mind beheld unreal 
 
 things. 
 
 By one of the windows I saw a 
 Gray haired man stand mute as death 
 And by his side I saw one young in years 
 His eyes toward hcaren turned : and then 
 
 again 
 
 He hid his face hehind his hands 
 As if in sorrow. And behold the old man 
 Turned his back to him. 
 
 ELI. 
 
 That means but this that God in heaven 
 Has turned against us, and our doom is 
 
 sealed. 
 
 And I will wait my hour in silence. 
 Fain would I curse, fain would I kill nryself , 
 Would I could die ! Already have I lived 
 Too long Hunger Fear, my daily fiends ! 
 Twelve days I've fought you bravely to be 
 Subdued at last by thee. 
 
 JOBEL. 
 How cold it is.



 
 AJAX' DEATH. 227 
 
 ELI. 
 
 Is that a human carcass floating on the 
 water? Look Ajax, look! 
 
 AJAX. 
 
 The body of a lynched man. Could I 
 But reach it, and eat once more before 
 I die. 
 
 ELI. 
 
 Go get it Ajax. Thou art a swimmer. 
 ( Ajax reaches the water and a band of lynchers rush 
 from the bushes and grab him.) 
 
 AJAX. 
 
 Oh father help me! The devil has me. 
 The carcass had its spies. Help ! Murder ! 
 ELI. 
 
 ( Hushes to his son's rescue, with his silvery locks dang 
 ling in his fuce. He rushes in their midst and grasps 
 his boy. The lynchers spear his aged body as if it was 
 a beast.) 
 
 Help, for I am stabbed. My God these 
 Bloodv Ivnchers But wherefore call 
 
 V 1 V 
 
 For help when none can aid. Ramech fare 
 well ! 
 
 Jobcl, my child farewell ! 
 
 (The father and sou are lynched.) 
 
 RAMECH. 
 
 O Eli ! Ajax ! My God of heaven. 
 (She weeps aloud.)



 
 2'2S AJAX' DEATH. 
 
 JOBEL. 
 
 Mamma, why do you weep? Where is my 
 Papa? Has he gone to get me some water? 
 
 RAMECH. 
 
 My precious child. My husband and my son 
 Are gone and the lynchers will surely be 
 After you. I hear them shriek for blood. 
 But I am nerved to die. 
 JOBEL. 
 
 Why don't my papa come? I dreamed 
 He brought me some bread and you 
 Dear mamma and I were in a house. 
 
 RAMECH. 
 
 Sleep again my child, and in thy dreams 
 Forget the ills of earth and reign on high. 
 Oh God, please Thou forgive my sins, 
 And let me die ; but Father spare my child ! 
 He hath not sinned. Hush! the lynchers 
 
 come. 
 
 They took my husband and my son. 
 Ain't that enough? Why trouble me? 
 I hear the howl of dogs. 
 JOBEL. 
 My papa won't come. O mamma 
 
 RAMECH. 
 My soul the lynchers are upon me!



 
 A/JA" DHAT1L 229 
 
 O precious God! To Thee I yield my soul, 
 Do take my helpless child. 
 
 ( The Lynohers rush upon her.) 
 My child! My own dear child! 
 
 JOBEL. 
 
 Mamma it is so cold. Have you 
 No bread for me? Where is my mamma? 
 Mamma Mamma Mamma. 
 
 But during this mighty struggle with 
 
 Ajax and his foes, 
 He and one man fighting for life had 
 
 drifted from the shore. 
 And Ajax fought a brave man's fight 
 
 against a watery grave, 
 Exhausted down he seized some planks 
 
 adrift upon the waves. 
 He stepped upon his rescu'd ship with 
 
 clothes all dripping wet, 
 And blood from every garment fell, his 
 
 eyes the white man's met. 
 Death had pressed him closely and 
 
 precious was rach second 
 Two hands from out the water reached, his 
 
 eyes toward Ajax beckoned.



 
  
 There was the bloodless pallor of a wretched 
 
 drowning man 
 With mouth all gaping, eyes bloodshot and 
 
 hair on end did stand. 
 The struggling white man exhausted from 
 
 trying to kill Ajax 
 Was fighting with water, now his strength 
 
 was all relaxed. 
 He cried'* I perish my dear sir, give me a 
 
 helping hand." 
 And Ajax's heart was melted down he drew 
 
 him to a stand. 
 And Ajax said, "You've treated me as though I 
 
 were a pup, 
 I give you good for evil I in God's name 
 
 bring you up." 
 And Ajax heard his mother shriek afar upon 
 
 the shore, 
 And tears gushed down bis bleeding cheeks, 
 
 "injGod can it be so?" 
 The planks were drifting further and further 
 
 down the river, 
 And Ajax turned to bis shipmate and these 
 
 words did deliver: 
 " The shrieking voice you hear comes from 
 
 niv mother's bleeding heart



 
 .I./.1A" DKATlf. 231 
 
 It is a shrill and helpless roice, it makes HIT 
 
 senses start. 
 My mother murdered, butchered and my aged 
 
 father slain, 
 Their infant child is murdered to, ought I 
 
 silent remain? 
 Can it be true that I have saved your wretched, 
 
 wicked life, 
 While others of your gang have killed my 
 
 father and his wife? 
 You heathen of the white-skin'd tribe, you 
 
 sit down there and wonder 
 I've robb'd grim death by saving you, your 
 
 watery grave I've plundered. 
 I've prayed to God for vengeance through all 
 
 these dreary years 
 
 I've gathered patience from my friends relat 
 ing all their fears. 
 
 My assailants have been many and my defend 
 ers few, 
 But now we stand as man to man, sir, should 
 
 I murder jou ? 
 Grim death keeps secrets better than the mass 
 
 of living men, 
 The river waves will gladlj take you to the 
 
 fishy den. 
 Then I could dive down in the waves and be, 
 
 myself, at rest.



 
  
 And your dear lynchers seeking me would 
 
 vainly beat their breast, 
 And though they are good hunters of the blood 
 
 of Negro's vein, 
 There they would follow long and far to 
 
 ne'er find my domain. 
 Consider, as I do, sir, what the river's waves 
 
 would be 
 In contrast of the life, my peer, which now I 
 
 give to thee. 
 And I am now adrift, afloat in the marts of 
 
 the world, 
 And if the lynchers can catch me my soul to 
 
 wind'll be hurled. 
 If all the demons of your race could gather 
 
 'round us now, 
 Sir, all my pleading would not keep cold death 
 
 from my hot brow. 
 
 But man was made for life's battle, and some 
 times life is fate, 
 To every man that breathes a breath death 
 
 cometh soon or late. 
 And how could you die better, sir, than by a 
 
 hand like mine, 
 For all my race's punishment by all your race's 
 
 crimes?



 
 AJAT DEATH. 2 : 
 
 And could I die a nobler death than facing 
 
 fearful odds 
 For vengeance of my father and my mother 
 
 'neath the sod; 
 And for those tender mothers with their babies 
 
 at their breast 
 Whose husbands died the death of dogs at 
 
 your race's behest? 
 
 O! no, my mother's noble form lies not be 
 neath the sod, 
 Its now a prey for buzzards' feast, you wicked 
 
 wretch ! My God ! 
 I have been at your mercy, sir, jou tried to 
 
 take my life. 
 I have no hope of your favor, for you I have 
 
 no rife. 
 I could kill you and cast your form beneath 
 
 the rolling \raves 
 But I urn human, so -ire you, I'm not to kill 
 
 but save." 
 The white man set there calm as death he ut- 
 
 ter'd not a word. 
 It seemed his frame \ras void of breath his 
 
 soul was all bestirred. 
 He never gave an earnest look he did not even 
 
 wink.



 
  
 And Ajax said, " These circumstances do make 
 
 my conscience think. 
 O white man ! have you any heart and did you 
 
 ever sigh, 
 And did your senses ever start to see a Negro 
 
 die? 
 Consider now the torture and the cruelty on 
 
 my race, 
 Look at my mother's cruel death, her infant 
 
 child effac'd. 
 Come go with me to Texas and see those red 
 
 hot irons 
 That burn'd the eyes and mouths of men and 
 
 made them roar like lions. 
 And how the lynch'd men bellow'd like a cow 
 
 in deep distress, 
 And how the lynchers laugh'd and took it in 
 
 with minds at rest. 
 Oh ! how the men did struggle to loose the 
 
 lynchers' chain. 
 
 Oil! how thej howl'd like mad men, their ef 
 forts were in vain. 
 The guards had gone upstairs to rest, women 
 
 and children came 
 To view the scene with idle jest, and they were 
 
 not ashamd.



 
 .I//LV DK.\m. 283 
 
 The angels 'round the thron of God h:ul turn'd 
 their backs to earth, 
 
 NVith hearts melted away in tears at sight of 
 Texas mirth. 
 
 This land of brutal cowards still lack the moral 
 backbone, 
 
 The moral courage, moral strength to drive a 
 villian home. 
 
 To even lift a finger or to raise a warning crj, 
 
 They stand in silent pleasure and gaze on the 
 Negro die. 
 
 And in the shadow of the church human be 
 ings are burned, 
 
 From Sunday-schools the children rush this 
 
 / 
 
 wickedness to learn. 
 They gather 'round to take a smell of burning 
 
 human flesh, 
 They cheer the scene and make the spot a 
 
 place of sacred mesh. 
 For him to plead, when all the hearts his 
 
 keenest prayer could probe, 
 Are but a breath of ether in the space around 
 
 the globe. 
 
 It's no more than a ripple to the roaring water 
 fall, 
 It's a snow-flake in the valley to the cloud 
 
 that cover* all.



 
 There'?* no protest, there's no rebuke, there's 
 
 not a single cry 
 Fished from the pools of blood and wrong to 
 
 touch the nation's eye. 
 The world now sits in judgement and could the 
 
 nations plead 
 This land would be a criminal of the vilest 
 
 kind of deeds. 
 Could Ida Wells have raised a force to follow 
 
 her crusade 
 This dreadful crime, long ere this time in 
 
 darkness would be laid. 
 If Frances Willard and her host would help to 
 
 raise the cry, 
 Intemperate lynchings ghastly ghost would 
 
 fade away and die. 
 For when a woman makes a vow that she will 
 
 do a thing 
 
 She's sure to win, or else she'll make oppon 
 ents conscience ring. 
 
 Few men of crime can stand to break a wo 
 man's heart, perchance, 
 Some nations chang'd their ship of state upon 
 
 a woman's glance. 
 Fair Helen seal'd the fate of Troy and queens 
 
 of ancient times 
 Have led brave hearts in cause of truth and 
 
 made the wrong 1 decline.



 
 AJAX' DEATH. 237 
 
 Some noble, stalwart woman have in every time 
 
 and place, 
 Wielded her influence, good or bad, upon the 
 
 human race. 
 If all the noble women who have a Christian 
 
 heart, 
 While .sitting by the fireside would take an 
 
 active part, 
 And have a gen'ral family talk about the ship 
 
 of state, 
 And speak of what the states should do to 
 
 have a union great-- 
 And speak of how almighty God was looking 
 
 from the sky- 
 Down on the doings of each one. He heard 
 
 the lynch'd man's sigh, 
 More husbands and more sons will go away 
 
 from sacred homo 
 With purer thoughts and higher aims and of 
 
 a Christian tone 
 'Till ships of church and ships of state will all 
 
 be till'd with men 
 With Christian hearts, with humane minds, 
 
 with works oppos'd to sin. 
 Then there'd be more McKinley hearts as 
 
 governor of .-lutes.

 
 To see that men obeyed the laws which they 
 
 themsehres would make 
 Then ev'ry gov'nor would be tit to make a 
 
 president 
 The whit* house then would ever have * man 
 
 with good intent. 
 Then lynching crimes would melt away as ice 
 
 in summer's heat, 
 Then we could praise this ship of state, this 
 
 union strong and great. 
 For many years my race has been a universal 
 
 target, 
 They never try to find the part that's crimson, 
 
 bright and scarlet, 
 In all of the affairs of life enormous fads have 
 
 spent 
 
 All of their forces upon him to bring our dis 
 content. 
 All those unhappy phrases they should try to 
 
 set aright, 
 Are dwelt upon with mighty force to make as 
 
 dark as night, 
 
 A just investigation, to show the brighter side, 
 Is never made by those who strive forever to 
 
 deride. 
 TheNegro's moral standard, sir, has never been 
 
 as low

 
 As tho.se destructive lyncher's hearts who nev 
 er try to know 
 Whether it was a crime or not they're simply 
 
 satisfied 
 To pass their own meek judgment, they crurc 
 
 the Negro's hide. 
 There's no class in America whose moral 
 
 pathway's fill'd 
 With thorns as is the Negro's and he must 
 
 tread at will. 
 American Christianity's not recognized by 
 
 Him 
 Who came to earth to die for man and gire 
 
 him Christian trim. 
 IIr body's broken by disease her conscience 
 
 soared with crimes. 
 
 A mind and soul of cruelty to cap tht heath 
 en climes. 
 And in the light of all these things it is a poor 
 
 spirit 
 To point with Christian horror but ne'er try 
 
 to prohibit. 
 Ah! what a reckless nation, what an undiscip- 
 
 lin'd child 
 Noble, but sometimes tricky, doing somethings 
 
 that are wild.

 
 * * * * 
 
 A freeman am I, must I die a slave adrift at. 
 
 sea, 
 Or must I live as master's dog to whimper at 
 
 his plea. 
 And must I crawl down at his feet, and must 
 
 1 lick his hands? 
 Poor Ajax' cheeks did flush with heat he 
 
 ground his teeth like sand. 
 By Jove, by thunder, by the gods, I'd rather 
 
 herd with wolves, 
 And seek the lion's friendship and to tigers 
 
 make my love, 
 Then I could marshal all their strength against 
 
 the cursed mob, 
 And teach them how it felt to give a beast a 
 
 wailing sob. 
 To all my sorrows I would add those of my 
 
 punished race, 
 And devote myself to vengeance upon this black 
 
 disgrace. 
 And I would pray to all the gods, the gods both 
 
 good and bad 
 To lend me their special terrors to ridicule this 
 
 fad. 
 I'd ask for tempest, heat and cold, for drought, 
 
 for wild beast's lair,

 
 And all th poison of the land that men let 
 
 loose in air 
 And all the thousand other things that quickly 
 
 put to sleep 
 Of which men die on sea and land, my God ! 
 
 why should I weep? 
 
 My feelings are not vagary as a sensitive lad 
 But reas'ning of suffering manhood to give 
 
 endurance sad. 
 Every age has its sorrows and O, the ills of 
 
 time, 
 
 No parallel in human life to match this lynch 
 ing clime, 
 My spirit never goes to sleep I cannot rest at 
 
 night, 
 A dog remembers, long, a wrong, he knows a 
 
 friend at sight. 
 I have a book of great events, I'll write this 
 
 voyage down 
 That men may know what I have seen and try 
 
 its depths to sound. 
 My mother, father all are gone and I in this 
 
 wild wood, 
 My wife and child sev Vd from me, all gone 
 
 but my manhood. 
 
 I never hope to h'nd them now amid my anx 
 ious fears 
 
 
 As "Ben Hur" found his jewels after eight 
 
 long grieving years. 
 He found his precious mother and his sister 
 
 with disease 
 
 From out a wicked dungeon he brought them 
 , to release. 
 
 > > t 
 
 But dungeons where the lynchers place the 
 
 prison'd corpse of man 
 
 ' ' : * " 
 
 The buzzard sailing in the air has all at his 
 
 command. 
 O white man! Qan't I probe from you a single, 
 
 tender sob? 
 And won't you help me pray one prayer to 
 
 your Almighty God ? 
 "OGod! give me a little faith and into my 
 
 darkness 
 That's deeper darkening every day, O send a 
 
 light of rest. 
 All hopes deal with the future Lord, I hope 
 
 for better days , 
 And while I'm drifting down the tide, guide 
 
 me the right of way." 
 Laurels of this world may be sweet but they 
 
 soon pass away. 
 j 
 
 We have no laurels as a race, are they in com 
 ing days?

 
 Like those colossal tombs of old on drifting 
 
 n 
 
 desert sands 
 They cast .shadows 'cross the cent'ries then 
 
 crumble to the land. 
 This country in a prosperous stage will yet 
 
 come to a halt, 
 And see the depths of this outrage and remedy 
 
 the fault. 
 
 When time lies down fore'er to sleep at eter 
 nity's feet, 
 And vanities, pomps, more creep upon the 
 
 stage so sweet 
 And stars of heaven have all gone out of their 
 
 ethereal home 
 
 The eternal hand, unseen by us across this land 
 
 11 
 
 will roam. 
 
 The evening shade was gathering now, the 
 
 surging waters rollM. 
 And Ajax felt the cool ni^ht wind, it seemed 
 
 to fan his soul. 
 Unruly winds began to cease and zephyr's 
 
 breezes rose 
 The lotus plant from water's depths beforo 
 
 his ga/e roposcd. 
 The solemn river loiter'd on its way quite un- 
 
 coBoerned,


 
 The palm trees shook their nodding heads and 
 
 stoop' d to greet the fern. 
 The Jackall slipping on the bank knew Ajax' 
 
 skin was black 
 He snapp'd his teeth he thought t' was law his 
 
 fleshless bones to crack : 
 The guiding stars began to show, the day went 
 
 into night 
 And like a phantom ship at sea they drifted 
 
 out of sight. 
 The planks, call'd ship on which they rode, . 
 
 went calmly down the river 
 And no one knows unto this da}- which was 
 
 the longest liver. 
 Did Ajax kill the white man? O no, his heart 
 
 was tender ! 
 Did white man kill poor Ajax? his heart was 
 
 rash as timber ! 
 Did both of them drift to the gulf and make a 
 
 feast for whales ; 
 Did both of them escape and shall we yet hear 
 
 both their tales? 
 If poor Ajax i* yet alive and dwells upon the 
 
 land, 
 He'll write a book to shake this world and 
 
 make men understand. 
 
 Dominm Vobiscitm.






 
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 At My Mother's Grave, - 9 
 
 A Human Artist, - - - - - - 118 
 
 Alone with Jesus, - ... 104 
 
 Best Things in the World, - 77 
 
 Cain and Abel, 36 
 
 Christmas Gift, 127 
 
 Class Valedictorian, - 133 
 
 Consolation, 31 
 
 Deception, - 88 
 Dedication, - - 3 
 Douglass Dead, - - 41 
 
 Fashion, - 108 
 Fixed Love, - - 94 
 
 Fleeting Spring, - 129 
 From Degradation Through Supplication to 
 
 Education, - - 79 
 
 Harper, Mrs. Frances E. 33 
 
 Just Married, - 123 
 
 Hurrah for McKinley, - 58 
 
 Lincoln's Call, - 57 
 
 Life's What We Make It, 32 
 
 Life Pictures, - 125 
 
 Love's Labor Lost, - 87 
 
 Love Regained, - 90 
 
 Love and Fear Contest, - 92 
 
 Man's Imperfections, - 47 
 
 Maceo Cuba's Liberator, - 71 
 
 Mother's Songs, - 21 
 
 Mother's Rage, - 196



 
 Moth -rly Emotions, 
 
 Memory of Mother, 
 
 Maid and Mosquito, 
 
 Mitgnii est reritux, 
 
 Miss Snowflake and the Lovers, 97 
 
 My Bible, 1(K5 
 
 My Sweetheart, 
 
 Negroes' " America," . 128 
 
 New Year's Greeting, 
 
 Only, 
 
 "Our Country," 
 
 Payne, Bishop Daniel, 
 
 Preamble, 
 
 Preface, 
 
 Quietude, 
 
 Sum Jones, 116 
 
 Sonnet October, 
 
 Spotless, 
 
 Stowe, Harriet Beecher's Works, 64 
 
 Stowe, Harriet Beecher's Monument, 69 
 
 Strong Drink, 1H 
 
 The Call that All must Obey, 60 
 
 The Easter Man, 43 
 
 The Model Girl, 
 
 The Trip I'd Like To Take, 99 
 
 Time Eternity, 14 
 
 Uncle Tom's Cabin, 64 
 
 Voice from the South, 
 
 Woman In Cimgn-. . 
 
 Y. M. C. A. Founder, ?~> 
 
 PART SE<;ONI>. 
 
 Childn-ns' Corm-r. 
 
 1 Kisses, 139

 
 Children*' ^ iy, 160 
 
 Children and Mother, 146 
 
 A Chat With the Boys, 152 
 
 Excelsior, 160 
 
 God Sees, 145 
 
 Heart Thieves, 142 
 
 He Knoweth and Loveth You, 153 
 
 Industry In Children, - 154 
 
 Santa Claus on New Year's Day, - . 148 
 
 Telephone to Heaven, - 153 
 
 The Simple Reason, 169 
 
 The Time of the Singing of Birds, - 141 
 
 Vacation's Ending, - 156 
 
 Where Are the Boys, 162 
 
 PAKT THIRD. 
 
 Ajax' Dreain, 180 
 
 Ajax' Second Dream, 183 
 
 Ajax' Fright, 186 
 
 Ajax' Soliloquy, 188 
 
 Ajax' Kindred's Soliloquy, 189 
 
 Ajax' Monument, 191 
 
 Ajax' Song, 192 
 
 Ajax' Meditations, 194 
 
 Ajax' Bashfulness, 198 
 
 Ajax Looks Beyond, - 200 
 
 Ajax votes for McKinley, 201 
 
 Ajax' Conclusion, 204 
 
 Ajax is Chastised, 206 
 
 Ajax at the Centenial, 207 
 
 Ajax' Appeal to America, 211 
 
 Ajax' Death (A drama.) 217