Women of the Early Harlem Renaissance: African American Women Writers 1900-1922


I know a lot of folk who think
That God
Is just a great, big tub
Of Grub.
Descanting on His bounty
They will measure
His prodigal treasure
By so many
"Head o' hogs," "bushel o' grain" or "barr'l o' potatoes!"
But to me
God is the lily's dream,
The low, sweet note
In the thrush's throat--
The sun-beam's glory by a dew-drop caught!
He is the mighty tide
Gripping old ocean's side--
The mountain's thought!

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