Walter Everette Hawkins, "To Booker T. Washington" (1909)
Who would condone the wrong,
Or else for private gain
Speaks what his heart disproves,
Who would his conscience blunt
And accept a lie for truth,
Or else accept inferior place
When God hath made us men,—
Mocks the God who made him.
Rebukes the highest attributes
That distinguish man from beast.
And makes himself less than man.
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And what doth shade of Douglass think of thee?
(Since shades of martyrs o'er the present brood)
His pure, exalted Muse of liberty
Is raped by menial, cringing servitude.
Can worldly gain be more than righteousness?
Is wealth supreme, and right and manhood less?
Shall gold rule godliness?
What hope is in what thou dost advocate?
Cite history to prove what thou dost preach;
Did nation ever rise to noble state
By groveling fore'er as thou dost teach?
Can Ethiopia e'er hope to rise
If she for others' wrongs apologize—
If she submit to lies?
Since worlds began to move and men contend,
The right of life and liberty were first;
Free and respected they who would not bend—
To kiss the rod were to be deemed accursed.
And wrong has never bowed his head to right
Except beneath the sword of those who fight;
To such will come the light.
"The life is more than meat," the Saviour said,
"The body more than raiment" that we wear;
To aim of life is not for gold nor bread,
But for a nobler life man to prepare.
And better far that man should die unborn
Than sell the soul he cannot call his own
To reign on Mammon's throne.
Thy life has been a curse upon thy race,
Nor hast thou spoken save to trade for gold;
Thy servile creed hath brought thy race disgrace,
But brought to thee the millions thou dost hold.
Ah! nobler far to fill a nameless grave
Than reign a hired tool, a pliant knave—
'Twere better die than slave!
"In word and deed unmanned," and yet unshamed,
"From birth till death enslaved" to other men;
Our highest ends and aims thou hast defamed—
Who freedom prize seek more than bread to win.
The freedom bought at cost of millions' blood
Is bartered out the world's vile pelf to hoard,
As Judas sold his God.
When fearful storms our brightest hopes would blast
Thou leavest our fated ship alone at sea,
And into silence slink till all is past,
Or else thy arm doth join the enemy;
The crisis past — we dying see thee rise
Upon the arm that doomed our energies—
Thy race thy sacrifice.
And what has followed in the wake of thee?
Her civil, moral, intellectual death,
Her franchise rights, the boon of liberty,
They die defeated by thy blighting breath—
The dwarfing of her best and brained schools,
Dread ostracisms, crimes, and lynching rules,
Thy race the prey of fools.
And valiant men shall mock thy idol god—
‘Twas lust for power defeated men of old;
And moth and rust shall eat thy ill-got hoard,
Or thieves break thru and prey upon thy gold.
So long as Freedom sheds her potent flame,
Men will arise to hiss the traitor's name
Who sold his race to shame.
Published in Chords and Discords, 1909