Walter Everette Hawkins, "Remember Brownsville" (1909)
Remember Brownsville.
Ah! it came like bolts of lightning
From a sky without a cloud,
And it fell with dread disaster,
And a crash severe and loud;
Shocked the sense of men and angels
With its morbid stench of sin —
'Twas the blow that fell at Brownsville
On those brave black soldier men.
O, the thought that makes it cruel
‘Twas the gallant "Twenty-Fifth,"
Stripped of marks that stood for honor,
And the guns they conquered with.
Twenty years and six a soldier,
Loaded heavy with rewards,
And the guns that decked their shoulders
Had become their idol gods.
Ah! 'twould be not half so cruel,
But they served their country well,
Saved the life of him who slew them,
Snatched their country back from hell.
Ethiope doth pin a flower
On her gallant soldiers' graves,
And she drops a tear in mourning
For the slaying of her braves.
From the hill tops to the valleys—
Everywhere the murmurs roll;
It is "Brownsville," "Brownsville," "Brownsville,"
It has stirred the Negro's soul;
For he feels the wrong and outrage,
And he meets it with a frown—
And this mighty Ghost of “Brownsville”—
It will never, never down.
And of all the wrongs and outrage
Long, long will the race recall
The deep burning shame of "Brownsville,"
"Most unkindest cut of all;"
And for once he is loth to pardon,
"Holy vengeance" is his theme—
The un-Holy Ghost of "Brownsville"
Is the Demon of his dream.
"Remember Brownsville" is the slogan,
It will be for coming years;
There lies curse without conviction,
Therein lie impending fears.
Blacks will learn to test their power,
Nor will bribe of office please;
For this baneful Ghost of "Brownsville"—
It will never give him ease.
Like the raging ghost of Banquo
That will live and never down,
So this dreadful Ghost of "Brownsville"
Stalks the land from town to town.
May it spread in big proportions,
Till it win a race renown;
For this awful Ghost of "Brownsville"
Will live on and never down.
Let the winds waft their good fortune,
Let the "evil days" bring wrong;
Black men will "Remember Brownsville,"
It shall be the life of song;
Martyr-like he serves the scaffold,
Bears the cruel lash of shame;
By the wounds his heart endureth
His oppressors rise to fame.
And we pine for acts of tyrants
And for Nero's cruel heart;
While the dread Sicilian Vespers
Makes atoning tear drops start;
But a race's heart is bleeding
For her braves which "Herod" slew;
And the Blacks will look on "Brownsville"
As their St. Bartholomew.