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H.T. Johnson, "Wings of Ebony" (1904)
12023-06-08T11:19:09-04:00Amardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e12131plain2023-06-08T11:19:09-04:00Amardeep Singhc185e79df2fca428277052b90841c4aba30044e1 WINGS of EBONY By H. T. Johnson Editor The Christian Recorder, Philadelphia Author of "The Divine Logos," " 0ix Nigrae Gentis," " Johnson's Gems," " Tuskegee Talks," " The Pulpit, Pew and Parish," Etc., Etc. 1904. A. M. E. Book Concern Philadelphia
Copyright October, 1904 By H. T. Johnson
RACIAL Black Man's Burden, The 15 If I Were White 10 Man Burning 41 Race Chariots—Black and White, The 7 Song of Hope, A 12
Allen's Day 19 Bishop Daniel Alex. Payne, D.D., LL.D 30 Bishop William Fisher Dickerson 24 Emancipation Ode 34 Memorial Ode to Frederick Douglass 21 Richard Allen 17 Triste Vale 27
Allen University 46 Bishop L. J. Coppin, D.D 32 Bishop W. B. Derrick, D.D 49 Bishop A. Grant, D.D 31 Bishop Henry McNeal Turner, D.D., LL.D., D.C.L. 29 Bishop Chas. Spencer Smith 50 Bishop B. T. Tanner, D.D., LL.D 50 Booker T. Washington 30 Morris Brown College 46 President Theodore Roosevelt 5 W. D. Chappelle, D.D 5*
America's Seventh Wonder 38 Bad Black Man, The 48 Delivery From Oppression, For 47 Home 48 Look! J4 Macedonia 37 Wedding Anniversary of a Friend 32
To Bishops B. F. I,ee, D.D., LL.D. Evans Tyree, M.D., D.D. L. J. Coppin, D.D. M. B. Salter, D.D. Professors J. W. E. Bowen, Ph.D. W. S. Scarborough, LL. D. J. M. Henderson, A.M. W. G. Alexander, D.D. W. E. B. Du Bois, A.M. J. H. Jones, A.M. W. T. Vernon, A.M. P. W. Walls, D.D. and others who stand for the higher literary life of the colored race-variety these metrical trifles are respectfully dedicated by the author.
WINGS OF EBONY
President Theodore Roosevelt.
Not Lochinvar nor Sheridan Thy horsemanship could beat, Though each eclipsing record made In great equestrian feat. San Juan's heights and western wilds Attest thy native skill, And mettle rare and hardy frame And stubborn, steel-clad will. We've seen the prancing charger leap And bite and paw the ground; Beneath thy mount the mad mustang, Has moved off at a bound. Though steep the way and rough the road That duty bids thee take, With bareback ride and rein of right The upward goal thou'lt make. In hot pursuit let others dash The White House prize to win, Thy measured gait will all outstrip, Despite their cries and din. Speed on, O knight of destiny, Thou man of iron nerve, Thy country bids thee keep thy place, And still her welfare serve. The Race Chariots—Black and White. I saw two chariots in my dream, Speeding the open plains, In one a driver clad in white Held tight the guiding reins. The steeds that drew the foremost car Were like the driven snow, The coach was of the same fair hue, The whip and lines also. Another car close in the rear Went bounding for the stand, A sable coachman held the line With dark whip in one hand. The horses, coach and harness, all Were black as shades of night; The angry clouds by tempest chased Ne'er made more darksome sight. Good fortune opened wide the course,— Each driver did his best; The heated chargers sped through space Each bending to the test. The dust-cloud from the foremost wheels Shut off the blacks from sight, But presently the backward span Sped by, with all their might. Their heaving nostrils gasped for breath, Their eyes flashed balls of fire; The contest was for life or death, And hence they dared not tire. Grim Jove above the race track soared With trident poised in air, And pointed to the beck'ning goal With visage stern and clear. Spectators thronged in tiers mid air The mighty race to scan, And countless witnesses were there To cheer the winning span. "Drive Saxon, drive!" the thun'drous shout From hills and woodland rung, "Speed Negro, speed!" in deafening cheers By ocean lips were sung. The chariots turned the final curve And for the victor's stand, The foaming steeds bent neck and neck, When the judge threw up his hand. "Ye've both done well," the umpire said, As the salvos died away; "Would that I had a row of palms To give ye both this day. But since an only crown I have, Instructed by the gods, I hand to him who struggled here In the face of the greatest odds. The white of the other had the start Two thousand years ago, And tried his best to block the road As all the world doth know." And so the dark-skinned hero's brow Received the crown that day, While the plaudits rang through all the air As the victor rode away.
If I Were White.
"If I were white— My outerself I mean— And that not quite, My skin alone, I ween, My teeth and eyes in part Are white as fairest art. "If I were white, My whiteness I would boast, And take delight Despite all care and cost, In skin untanned by heat Or torrid suns that beat. "If I were white, My breast would proudly swell, Nor fear nor fright Could in my bosom dwell. A link of flawless chain; I will be proud and vain." "Thou art not white," A silent voice replied; Beings and forms more bright Doth flourish far and wide; Thy haughty boast and mind Are lighter than the wind. "If thou be white, Rebuke the fleece-like clouds, Tinged with the light Or Summer's sable shrouds, And change the Winter's snow, And lilies' hue also. If I were white I'd pray to be like gold, Of dross rid quite, And inner worth unfold, And hold as base and cheap The white that's but skin deep.
A Song of Hope.
The race is onward marching No matter what they say, The morning light is breaking, The dawn not far away, From distant cloud-capped hilltops To Africa's distant way, The light comes shining brighter And brighter every day. We build our schools and churches, Write books and ever toil, With blood and brain and muscle To bless our country's soil; We're told this is but folly For strive as best we may, The world grows dark and darker About us every day. The clouds though thick and heavy, Yet have a brighter side; Remember so it was the day When Christ our Saviour died. Judge Lynch and vile oppressors, Though terrible in sway, Must fail, for God and right are Gaining ground each day. Think of the ills we suffer With those our fathers bore On Southern soil in slavery, On Africa's bleeding shore; Contrast their faith with ours, Though storm cast was the way, They trusted God and looked for A better, brighter day. Then to the winds our doubtings, Our song shall rend the night, For God and home and country Most valiantly we'll fight; God's word shall be our stronghold, His will let us obey, And bless His name for giving Hope of a brighter day. O for an inspiration To thrill the mighty throng, A bugle note of triumph A Gospel wave of song. A deeper consecration Toward what we ought to say And do for God who pledges The better, brighter day.
Look up! for upward is hope's sunlight and thy God, The parting clouds and radiant golden noon, Or sombre shades of darkness, through which gleam The shining stars or meteors bright. Look up and thou'lt not see some threatening abyss, Or yawning chasm verging thy footsteps, Nor frightful forms uprising from beneath To terrify thy thoughts and fill the soul with apprehension's dread. Look forward! for behind are prison walls, Where inmates lurk with ever darkening chains seeking thy bondage, And graves of buried sorrows disentombed shall yield their ghastly contents, Or wolves of memory scenting thy foot tracks, thoul't not see In mad pursuit chasing their victim. Shouldst thou look forward nor behind e'er turn thy gaze, Thy royal footsteps shall soon press the golden plains of life And palm or crown forever thou shalt wear.
The Black Man's Burden.
Pile on the Black Man's Burden, 'Tis nearest at our door, Why heed long bleeding Cuba Or dark Hawaii's shore; Halt ye your fearless armies Which menace feeble folks, Who fight with clubs and arrows And brook your rifles' smoke. Pile on the Black Man's Burden, His wail with laughter drown, You've sealed the Red Man's problem And now deal with the Brown. In vain you seek to end it With bullet, blood or death, Better by far defend it, With honor's holy breath. Pile on the Black Man's Burden, His back is broad, though sore, What though the weight oppress him He's borne the like before; Your Jim Crow laws and customs, And fiendish midnight deed, Though winked at by the nation Will some day trouble breed.
Pile on the Black Man's Burden, At length 'twill heaven pierce, Then on you or your children Will reign God's judgments fierce. Your battleships and armies May weaker ones appall, But God Almighty's justice They'll not disturb at all.
Fond freedom's bells, peal forth in merry chimes, And ye loud anvil strokes, ring out your notes, In gladsome echoes from departed times; Thy tale to listening millions now unfold. With brazen tongues or iron-volumed throats, Proclaim our hero's deeds, a century old. Of freedom from Great Britain's cruel power, A land uplift from spite and foreign King. Of him who in that peril-freighted hour, Ventured his all and won— George Washington, Columbia's valiant son— Thou needst not sing. Our hero's arm, the gyves and shackles broke That first his own form held, alike his mind, Then Samson-like, from spell bound slumber woke, Employed his strength to liberate his kind. Thy chieftain's fame is known in every land. Its magic spell remotest climes have felt; Wherever praise with prayer go hand in hand; Around this shrine they kneel—and long have knelt. Our warrior bore no gun or blood-thirst sword; Unlike thy soldier, scorned a path of gore, His the dread weapon, God's enduring word Whose tempered edges doth the right secure. Immortal muse, thy well tuned viols bring, Acclaim the news, resound this offering. A people's incense in the name of truth, Should burn and blaze And still through coming days Impart its fragrance to the unborn youth. The nation's star let shine o'er empires waste, But farther still truth's sun resplendent ray, Whose touch the midnight pall of churchly caste Caused to dissolve and break in Allen's Day. The brightest orb that lit earth's Western skies, Shines dimly in the light of Heaven's sun, So when the chieftain's beams, Like fleeting dreams, Dissolve in night, Our greater light whose lustre now begun, In fadeless gleams Shall greet admiring eyes.
What means this shout of "Allen's Day," This gladsome noise Of men and women, far away, And girls and boys? Our Richard Allen's name be sung By old and young, by every tongue, He gave his people manhood's birth, The noblest legacy of earth. From bended knees as galley slave By force updrawn; He soared and left proscription's grave And spied the dawn Of coming ages in whose wake Unfettered truth full orbed would break, And Heaven's all protecting arm, His Bethel shield from every harm. In humbler lot was ever born A nobler cause? Did ever Satan's hoof or horn Or gasping jaws In maddened struggles seek to slay The Babe incarnate in His day? So Allen braved a thousand foes, And battled down a thousand woes. Where once reigned fettered hopes and tears Now shines God light, Forth from the gloom spring songs and cheers And gospel sight. One fatherhood in God above, One universal Saviour's love, One golden chain, one common blood, Now binds us in man's brotherhood.
Memorial Ode to Frederick Douglass.
Both stately in form and noble in bearing, Majestic in tread like some embassied lord; Of leonine soul dread danger not fearing, None braver than thou ever buckled on sword. In fancy meseems to behold thee outsetting For truth's sternest conflict and liberty's cause; Of mien the Goliath of slavery fretting, Disdaining his scorn and defying his laws. Thine was not the armor of Saul, like another Who thought to have vanquished the foe by his might; The flame of thy zeal all thy foes could not smother, So long as thy weapons were God and the right. Titanic the soul that can win its own freedom, Then turn to release others fettered with chain; Such triumphs once marked the great victor from Edom Who shouted his conquest o'er thousands of slain. And thou too great hero of career now ended, Didst free thine own self then with bravery rare, Didst lift struggling millions and with them ascended To heights high and strong kissed by freedom's pure air. From lowliest depth of condition thou mountedst And saw others mount from serfdom to the skies; On wing as of light foul gloom thou discountedst Till slavery's hell changed to man's paradise. Yet on wage thy conflict illustrious wonder, 'Gainst wrong and oppression of whatever cast, The keen-tempered lance of thy soul piercing thunder Shall know no surcease while the struggle shall last. Thy patience serene and thy faith's sweeping visions Shall caste-fettered mountains view sunk out of sight;
The day is not distant though man's Indecision Shouldst postpone its dawn and oft augur night. Rest then wearied knight always true and victorious, Thy helmet and plume lay aside for a crown; In Time's starry expanse with lustre all glorious Sunlike thou shalt shine with a radiance thine own.
William Fisher Dickerson, Bishop.
O, ye sable sons of Freedom, Know ye not of Israel's loss, How a mighty prince has fallen From the king's advancing host? In the prime of mortal vigor, Ere life's sunset had begun, Youngest, strongest, 'mong his compeers, Far he seemed them all t' outrun. Giant minded, nobly gifted, With a soul that knew no bound, On the race he quickly entered, Heeding neither sight nor sound. On he ran, the goal before him, Up he looked with steadfast eyes; Faint, pursuing, yet he ventured, Till he grasped the outstretched prize. Fare thee well, departed hero, Life's stern conflict now is o'er; Thou art gone where wars and tumults Death or anguish come no more. Fades the smoke from fields of carnage, Cease the peals of mortal arms; Peace sways wide its olive sceptre, Victors shout triumphant psalms. Error's hordes thou oft hast vanquished, Sinful legions put to flight.— Bold, courageous, and defiant, Thou has won full many a fight. What thine weapon and thine armor, Let thy triumph loud proclaim; With a sword divinely tempered Hast thou battled in God's name. Loth to give thee up, we sorrow Great the loss we now sustain, Yet we murmur not, but yield us Unto Heaven's eternal gain. On the plains of radiant glory, In the saint's eternal rest, Where robed millions tell the story, Thou with Christ art ever blest. Fare thee well, immortal hero, Brother, leader, chieftain bold, May we emulate thy virtues And thy greatness yet untold. Though God's valiant workmen perish, Though they leave us one by one, Still the work they deeply cherish, On advances until done.
Gone from earth's home to yon mansions of brightness, From the sphere of turmoil to much needed rest, Gone where the wicked ne'er visit the tranquil, Where no ripples of care reach the land of the blest. Missed are the feet which trod errands of mercy, Missed are the hands that have God's labors done; O how much missed are those accents of sweetness, The kind words and good deeds which so brilliantly shone. Gone is a star from the home-circle firmament, Plucked is a flower from the green field of time, Gone, but to shine in the glory bright element; Plucked, but transplanted in bloom more sublime. Fled is a bird from its earth-bounded prison, Sped is the spirit on wings swift as light; Fleeing for freedom it rests on love's mountain, It rests, sweetly rests on yon peak out of sight.
Bishop Henry McNeal Turner, D.D., LL.D., D.C.L.
Far-famed and blest art thou beyond com¬ pare, In stature robust, and in genius rare; If cast in classic Greek or Roman mould The ages long had writ thy name in gold. Through royal loins or fabled ancestry, Thy mettle must have coursed its onward way, For 'tis not known in man's recorded time, That blood like thine has veins in common clay. Fearless and brave, with soul of iron knit, No lance thou shunest, but doth strike to hit; The enemies of freedom and the hordes of caste Shrink from the fury of thy trumpet's blast. Thy people's cause or country's bugle call, To fight or champion with the tongue or pen, Thou'rt there to answer be it where or when. Though trying years thy frame have palsied now, The fires of knighthood still adorn thy brow; And when the clarion call of church or race, Or far off Afric's pall thine ear or vision claim, To leap the sovereign mark of time and sea Thy spirit struggles though but fearlessly.
Booker T. Washington.
Most men depend on others for a name, Thou for thyself hast wrought immortal fame. Stooping to mother earth like birds that rise, Thou'st gathered power to bear thee to the skies. The wings that bear thee to posterity, Owe not a feather to prosperity.
Bishop Daniel Alex. Payne, D.D., LL.D.
No greater name than thine Fair beacon light of thought, Among the men who dreamt or wrought To open learning's shrine. Then to that God-sent seer Daniel A. Payne and Heaven, Our schools' transcendent pioneer Be tireless honors given.
Bishop A. Grant, D.D.
Great hero from the everglades, Of lowly birth, but lordly dreams, Destined to rise above the shades And shine where freedom's glory beams. Thy feet which gyves of bondage wore In childhood's morn to check thy gait, The lofty heights of manhood's shore Now press beneath their lordly tread. Thy hand once fettered wields a wand, More sovereign far than slavery swayed; For when uplifted, thy command Is heard with gladness and obeyed. Thy neck now scorns the despot's yoke, But greatly lifts thy people's cares, Thy tongue from muteness long has woke In answer to long uttered prayers. Thy burning words and flaming speech, Make captive listeners heed God's will; Thou'st called to minister and teach, And nobly dost thy mission fill. Bishop L. J. Coppin, D.D. Before church honors crowned thy brow, Or greatness gave thee place, Thou wert the same as thou art now, True to thy friends and race. Wedding Anniversary of a Friend. One year to-day on Hymen's sea, A youthful bark took sail; The sky was bright, the air was free From signs of threatening gale. Clasped in each other's fond embrace, Two hearts comprised the crew; The wind and wave they dared to face, Nor fear nor peril knew. Freighted with love the ship sped on, Manned by an unseen hand— The silvery waves she bore upon Pictured a scene most grand. In joy's fond port of honeymoon, Our youthful craft reclined; Her upturned brow was bronzed by noon, Her pennant kissed the wind. The happy crew a landing made: With zephyrs as their guide, In flowery walks through love's arcade, They roamed the Eden wide. Till warned by touch of busy care, Or roused by duty's call, 'Twere life to see the lovely pair Or hear their accents fall. But from this port of matchless joy, Full twelve months less but one; With anchor weighed, love's floating toy, Its sterner voyage begun. And still she glides with sanguine pride, On life's uncertain deep, While the Unseen Lord of Time and Tide, Her crew I pray may keep.
Sons of Freedom, swell the chorus; Ring the anthem loud and clear, Break it forth from vale and highland, Shout it that the Heavens might hear. Better time than now to sing it, Better time to vent ye praise, God hath not dispensed to mortals, Since the birth of cosmic days. While the hills and dales are list'ning, And the mountain tops are glist'ning With the frigid fruit from Winter's tree— While the merry sleigh bells jingle, And yon vesper orbs doth twinkle Sound the notes of Freedom's jubilee. Deep in volume, let the compass Of our freedom day refrain, Indicate the depth of gladness That inspires a nation's strain. In a day is born a nation, In a day from death to life Truth transforms embondaged millions, Lifts them through a bloody strife. Ere heart-rending sighs were ended, While to God man's cries ascended With a purpose born of faith divine. Ruler Lincoln snapped the fetters As he wrote in golden letters, Freedom's sun shall rise o'er Dixon's line. Yet we lingered in the darkness Of the night of grim old war, But while groping in the dungeon Caught faint gleams of hope afar. Poised was justice on her pinions, In her scales stood right and might, While she drew from God's dominion Truth's stern sabre strong and bright. This she waved with firm decision, Though might scorned and in derision Hurled defiance at her plea for liberty; Knowing that the Lord had spoken, Justice hold could not be broken, For the truth of God was pledged to make men free.
Then grim might so gored and smitten By the flaming sword of truth, Sighed to know its doom was written, Sighed, then sank to rise no more. In the grave of vast oblivion Buried is this ghastly dead, Broken now the bondsman prison And his fears forever fled. Where stood drivers with their lashes Drawing gore from dreadful gashes, Where ran freely mortal crimson streams; Now the school house and the college, Golden streams from founts of knowledge, Rich supply doth give to Freedom's dreams. Now we'll drown the howling bloodhounds With the shout of freedom's march, And will dissipate the dark frown From the brow of slavery passed. With our mighty notes of gladness From our famous jubilees, Let us banish every sadness Till the foe our triumph sees. In our galaxy of great men See our Douglass, Payne and Townsend, With their compeers Bruce, and Price, While beside these see our Arnett; See our Elliott, Brown, and Garnett Whom with Simmons late doth shine in Paradise.
Through the pall of sin's midnight from the verge of despair Rings the cry of distress, the most pitiful prayer; 'Tis the plea of the millions enshrouded in gloom, 'Neath the weight of that sentence which threatens their doom. "Come over and help us, ye children of sight, We grope in the darkness while ye boast the light; Your footsteps are lighted with rays from on high, While for want of salvation, we perish, we die. O hear our entreaties and heed our distress, From the ills of Sin's serfdom give Heaven's redress; Our fathers have wrought in Sin's temple for ages, Ourselves and our children are reaping the wages."
America's Seventh Wonder.
Most mighty marvel, height of human skill, Acme of genius, fruit of mighty will; Colossus statue, nor Niagara's span Thy praise can rival, earth's most wondrous plan. Beneath thy arch in forms majestic glide, Proud ocean monarchs, stemming wind and tide, Mid tempests rage or wild cyclonic gale Thy towering pillars never shake nor fail. Midway thy breast strong engines swell in vain, To test thy strength though endless be the train Of mortal freight that always come and go Though surges beat and angry tempests blow. Ten thousand footmen sweep across thy plain, Still oft returning come and go again, While youth and maiden sit or stroll alone Whiling the hours in gleeful talk or song. Here lovers meet within thy stout embrace And chase their phantoms o'er the water's waste; Here rogues convene and blacklegs catch their game, Or maddened dreamers leap in quest of fame. Here, too, the man of science scans his prize With knitted eyebrows and far-gazing eyes, Untangling skeins of rich and knotty thought Until his thread of gold is firmly caught. Too, from thy towering form the poets gaze Neath twilight's lure or sun or comet's blaze, Descries his own creations with delight And welcomes dull-eyed souls to share the sight. Most modern marvel, do I thee behold, In dreamy frenzy, dost thou not unfold Some mightier plan which yet may man mature To link our land with some great foreign shore? As from thy brow Bartholdi's beams I scan. And see this shining queen illumine man, My hopeful vision hastens on the day When earth shall glisten in a brighter ray. From thy seed thought I see the the columns rise With earth their base mount sightless to the skies, Which shall two countries span and link in one The mightiest nations neath the shining sun. From Gotham's wonder and from Brooklyn's pride, From sky-kissed columns and from where the tide Sweeps Ocean's floors and lays the cable bed, To force Creative, all my thoughts are led.
Like hungry tigers for the prey They raged and rent the air, Then with a wild and maddened rush Sent terror everywhere. What cared the mob for law's decree, Or honor's plaintive cry, 'Twas out for blood, and each man swore The prisoner must die. In mad stampede the Court they awed With pistol fire and yell, The Judge and Sheriff, tip-staves all Soon caught a glimpse of— The Judge was hustled from the bench The Sheriff seized and bound, While cruel hands the pris'ner gagged And hauled him like a hound. In noontide's glare they bore the wretch In full view of the crowd, And piled the wood and poured the oil That shaped his tragic shroud. "Stand back the crowd!" the leader bawled, With weapon cocked in hand; "Make room for ladies and young folks!" Rang out the stern command. "Come ladies, girls and boys," he said, "Gaze on the helpless dog; We've got him fast, although he squirms, We'll roast him like a hog. Before we start the deadly blaze We'll give the wretch a chance, To own his crimes and say his prayers, While ye around him dance. Say culprit, your last time has come, Have you a word to say, So own your guilt and make your peace Or sing, or preach or pray." The prisoner upward glanced his eyes, Then scanned the heartless crowd, And dealt a blow of deep surprise In answer clear and loud. "I have no fears to meet my God, The crime you charge to me Was done by him who led this mob To hide his infamy. I saw this red-faced bully here, As he struck the blow and ran; I heard the struggling woman cry, 0 save me, if you can! No woman's cries e'er reach my ears Unless I answer make; If I must die for aiding her, 1 die for honor's sake. Soon as I saw that she was dead I gave chase to her slayer, Who chased the wind in lightning speed Spurred on by guilt and fear. He met a crowd of roadside men And to them told a tale, When all at once they turned on me And shouted, 'Give him hail.' They opened fire, but missed the mark; Then I began to shoot In self-defense and got my man, But not the guilty brute. Now if for these brave deeds of mine You mean my flesh to burn, I have but this last word to say, To-day, it is your turn. But he who marks the sparrow's fall, And numbers every strand, Will pour his wrath in judgment dread On all who round me stand." They lit the fire and burnt his flesh, And kicked his quivering frame Until all left of mortal life Had slumbered in the flame. They scrambled mid the ashes pale Before the heat had left, And fought for bits of relics rare Like curs of wits bereft. The ladies laughed and children cheered In joyous, ghoulish glee, No circus train had brought such sport For folks to hear or see. But nature settles not like men; She takes her own good time, And turns the vial when 'tis full On heads of blood-guilt crime. Marked from that day with vengeance pen Was each foul lyncher's head, And God's true archers drew the arm Which reckoned for the dead. Within the space of one twelvemonth From that man-burning day, Each lyncher's soul was summoned hence In some unnatural way. As each lost spirit sped the bounds Of the infernal gate, God's vengeful demons waiting stood To sink him to his fate. The sure results of what he sowed The lyncher now doth reap, The fires he built for man on earth For him will devils keep. A genuine sheet of raging fire Shall be the lyncher's bed, And he who burnt his brother's flesh Shall with hell-fire be fed. So lynchers take a fool's advice, And henceforth from this day Let reason curb thy passion wild, And justice have its sway.
Long live to bless the race and kind Ennobled by thy name, Within thy walls may thousands find Learning and power and fame. Morris Brown College. In days long ago when the skies hung like midnight, And curtained the hopes of a race bound in chains, Thy fame-titled namesake with far-reaching insight Moved manfully northward to Freedom's domains. So, too, may this offspring of light-giving glory Shed good cheer and hope to its long- mantled race, That oncoming ages may cherish the story And sing of the fathers who gave thee thy place.
For Deliverance from Oppression. Regard in tenderness, O Lord, The ills thy children bear; Do thou thy gracious help afford, And answer this our prayer. We trust not in the arms of flesh; We lean upon thy word; For thine own arm omnipotent, Is mightier than the sword. What care we for the midnight foe? Or arrows winged with light? Or pestilence's fatal touch, Since thou, Lord, art our might? We need not fear the cruel hate Of those we've done no wrong; We look to thee, our Advocate, For weapons sure and strong. In common Fatherhood above, Thou reignest o'er the world; The poor thou liftest from the dust, The proud are downward hurled.
From the glory region a sunbeam sped, A token of love it bore, And on my home a lustre shed From the garment of light it wore. The family group it cheered with life, And a rainbow of hope it wove, To girdle the brow of the love-guided wife, And the helpmeet she promised to love. Though I journey afar from this love-haloed sphere, Though distance our bodies divide, I'll still with my loved ones in spirit be near, And wake in my dreams at their side. The Bad Black Man. There's a bad black man, And he causes lots of trouble; He's like a pot from torment, For he makes it bubble, bubble. If it wasn't for this villain, So I hear the white folks say, There'd be a better feeling, Than what exists to-day. I wish this bad black fellow, Had never seen the light, But had tarried with the bad man, In the region out of sight. Bishop W. B. Derrick, D.D. When cruel war her bugle note, To far-off regions sounded, Though but a lad in land remote, Thy footsteps hither bounded. 'Midst screaming shells and whistling shot, From belching gunboat broadside, Through thickest fight and flinching not, Thou battled till the foe died. A sterner foe though made to face, Thy courage knows no pallor, Whate'er confronts the church and race, Calls for thy ready valor. Long may thy tongue its thunder claps, Ring out against base treason, 'Till conquering like the valiant Japs, The foe is taught to reason. Bishop Charles Spencer Smith. In silent grandeur 'neath yon southern skies, Five stately stories to his honor rise, To greet the rising sun and restful night, And lift a rising people into light. To Afric's field on equal service bent, This valiant churchman has been lately sent, Heroic toilsman in far-off woods or town A nobler structure may his labors crown. Bishop B. T. Tanner, D.D., LL.D. A stream of light thy pen for years, In radiance strong and clear, Has shed across thy people's sky, And drew the day dawn near. In honor's fame thy place is won, Thy church will fondly dwell Upon thy worth in living thoughts, That will for ages tell.
W. D. Chappelle, D.D.
Wielding the sword with all thy might, Daring to battle for the right, Content to face opposing foes, Heroic as the conflict grows. As royal as the knights of old, Posing to meet the warrior bold, Placid amid the raging crowd, Easy when others thunder loud. Long may thy mettled spirit burn, Long may thy courage weakness spurn.