Mary Ashe Lee, "Afmerica" (1886 version)
Published in Negro [Boston], July 1886
[Note: this version looks substantially different from the 1894 version excerpted in Mossell]
With cheeks as soft as roses are,
And yet as brown as chestnuts dark;
And eyes that borrow from a star
A tranquil, yet a brilliant spark;
Or face of olive, with a glow
Of carmine on the lip and cheek;
The hair in wavelets falling low,
With jet or hazel eyes, that speak;
Or brow of pure Caucasian hue,
With auburn or with flaxen hair;
And eyes that beam in liquid blue,
A perfect type of Saxon fair,—
Behold this strange, this well-known maid,
Of every hue, of every shade!
We find this maiden everywhere,—-
From wild and sun-kissed Mexico
To where the Rocky Mountains rear
Their snow-peaked heads in Idaho.
From East to West, she makes her home;
From Carolina's pine-clad State,
Across the plains, she still doth roam
To California's golden gate.
Yet roaming not as gypsy maid,
Nor as the savage red-man's child,
But seeking e'er the loving shade
Of home and civil habits mild.
A daughter of futurity,
The problem of the age is she.
And why should she be strange to-day?
Why called the problem of the age?
Not so when slavery held its sway,
And she was like a bird in cage.
She was a normal creature then,
And in her true allotted place;
Giving her life to fellow-men,
A proud and avaricious race.
But now, a child of liberty,
Of independent womanhood,
The world in wonder looks to see
If in her there is any good;
If this new child, Afmerica,
Can dwell in free Columbia.
" 'Twas mercy brought me here," said one,
E'en Phillis Wheatly, child of song,
Who, born beneath an Afric sun,
In her kind mistress found no wrong.
Though maid and mistress, they were true
Companions, both in mind and heart.
No sad impression Phillis knew,
She was content to play her part.
In her is found the purest type
Of Afric intellectual might,
Which fast will grow and soon will ripe,
When nourished by the Christian light.
'Tis like Egyptian wheat that slept
In mummy graves, while ages crept.
When first America began
To give the world a nation new,
Then this strange child, called African,
Began to make her history, too.
In New York's Knickerbocker days,
As she would in the corner sit,
She sang with glee her cheerful lays,
And joined the family's mirth and wit.
New England even took her in
As servile at her own fireside;
But when convinced that it was sin,
And wounding to a Christian's pride,
To hold a fellow-man in chains,
She washed her hands from slavery's stains.
The warm affections of her heart,
Her patience and fidelity,
Adapted her in every part
A Washington's fit nurse to be.
And other children, too, of state
Were nurtured on her trustful breast:
Their wants she would alleviate,
And solace them when in distress.
Full well she filled her humble sphere
As cook or drudge or ladies' maid;
For all the varied household care
Was on her docile shoulders laid;
While in ennui her mistress fair
Was burdened with herself to bear.
Her lot grew harder year by year;
For she was called from household care,
And forced within the fields t' appear,
The labor of the men to share.
In purple fields of sugarcane,
At early morn, her task began
In regions of the Pontchartrain.
She did the hardy work of men
From Florida to Maryland,
In cotton, rice, and fields of corn.
Such work as calls for masculine hands,
All weary, over-tasked, and worn,
Subdued, she was compelled to do.
She helped in clearing forests, too.
The cultivation through her toil,
The literal labor of her hands,
Brought to perfection Southern soil
And swelled the commerce of those lands.
But as she toiled she prayed and longed
For freedom and for womanhood.
No Jewess, when in Goshen wronged,
In trusting God e'er firmer stood
Than sad Afmerica, who, through
The thick'ning of the midnight gloom,
Looked steadfast on the North Star true,
And knew Jehovah held her doom.
So thus for twice a century
She sang the song of jubilee.
Nor did she wait on God in vain.
No disappointment comes to those
Who ever strong in faith remain
And in God's confidence repose.
At last, a signal crisis came,
When on the first of sixty-three
Brave Lincoln made the bold proclaim:
'Twas but a war necessity,
Which Heaven did potentiate,
That he on that day did decree
In every fighting Southern State
Afmerica forever free.
God wrought this glorious victory,
Triumphant swelled the jubilee.
Well did she use her chances few.
Each opportunity she prized
As silvery drops of falling dew,
Sent to her from benignant skies.
So freedom found her not without
Fair education in the North.
In Southern cities, too, no doubt
Her acquisitions proved her worth.
In many of her homes was found
Refinement true, and some degree
Of culture there, too, did abound,
Ere she was absolutely free.
Her small one talent was not hid,
Whate'er she found to do she did.
O turbulent America!
So mixed and intermixed, until
Throughout this great Columbia
All nationalities at will
Become thine own, thy legal heirs,—
Behold, this colored child is thine!
Deny it, if there's one who dares,
Amid these glaring facts that shine
Upon the face of this ripe age.
As history doth record thy good,
We trace these facts on every page,—-
These facts cry out like Abel's blood;
And "I am vengeance," saith the Lord;
"I will repay." Hear his own word.
This hardest of all problems hard,
Which baffles wit of every school
And further progress doth retard,
Is solved but by the Golden Rule.
Be calm and think, sublimity—-
Have ye not learned, America? -—
Is only sweet simplicity.
Cease working out Afmerica;
Most simple and sublime is truth.
A truth divine points out to you
The duty owed e'en from thy youth;
One which you need not solve, but do.
Acknowledge and protect thy child,
Regard her not as strange or wild.
Afmerica! her home is here;
She wants or knows no other home;
No other lands, nor far nor near,
Can charm or tempt her thence to roam.
Her destiny is marked out here.
Her ancestors, like all the rest,
Came from the eastern hemisphere;
But she is native of the west.
She'll lend a hand to Africa,
And in her elevation aid.
But here in brave America
Her home, her only home, is made.
No one has power to send her hence:
This home was planned by Providence.
Whatever other women do
In any sphere of busy life,
We find her, though in numbers few,
Engaged heroic in the strife.
In song and music, she can soar;
She writes, she paints and sculptures well
The fine arts seem to smile on her.
In elocution, she'll excel;
In medicine, she has much skill.
She is an educator, too;
She lifts her voice against the still.
To Christ she tries man's soul to woo.
In love and patience, she is seen
In her own home, a blessed queen.
O ye, her brothers, husbands, friends,
Be brave, be true, be pure and strong!
For on your manly strength depends
Her firm security from wrong.
Oh, let your strong right arm be bold!
And don that lovely courtesy
Which marked the chevaliers of old.
Buttress her home with love and care;
Secure her those amenities
Which make a woman's life most dear;
Give her your warmest sympathies:
Thus high her aspirations raise
For nobler deeds in coming days.
Published in Negro [Boston], July 1886
Also published in "Southern Worksman," October 1886
Also published (in excerpted form) in Mossell, The Work of the Afro-American Woman, 1894