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Let me always dwell on life's highway and be the children's friend.
CHUMS
When He called little children as lambs to His fold.I should like to have been there then.
I wish that His arms had been thrown around me.
That His hands had been placed on my head,
And that I might have seen His kind look when He said,
“Let the little ones come unto Me.”
Yet still to His footstool in prayer I may go
And ask for a share of His love,
And if I now earnestly seek Him below,
I shall see Him and hear Him above.
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DEDICATED—
To the memory of
That angelic woman
Who claimed me as her son;
Of that majestic woman
Whose race on earth was run
Long ere I was old enough
To reason right from wrong,
Long before I listened to
Redemption's saving song.
That angelic woman
Who claimed me as her son;
Of that majestic woman
Whose race on earth was run
Long ere I was old enough
To reason right from wrong,
Long before I listened to
Redemption's saving song.
To the conscience of the nation
With the hopes that it may rise
To the point of elevation
That will open up its eyes,
And lend to us a listening ear
For the pitiful tale of woe
That Ajax cannot sleep at night
For lynchers are aglow.
They burn poor Ajax at the stake,
They hang him to a tree,
They chop him up like sausage meat,
From home they make him flee.
With the hopes that it may rise
To the point of elevation
That will open up its eyes,
And lend to us a listening ear
For the pitiful tale of woe
That Ajax cannot sleep at night
For lynchers are aglow.
They burn poor Ajax at the stake,
They hang him to a tree,
They chop him up like sausage meat,
From home they make him flee.
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PREAMBLE—
Sweet innocence of childhood is now on the decay,Refined women's modesty has wandered far away.
The home is no longer a sacred retreat,
For the head and the heart have gone to the feet.
The church has forsaken the “thou shalt not's,”
But says, “Such is life.” If not, why not?
Society is rotten from surface to core,
To speak of reforming brings a shouting uproar.
Our national Congress has gone to the dogs.
No statesmen, no jurists—all political frauds.
No men of conviction, no men who delight
In asking their conscience what is right,
And then with a purpose, firm and strong,
To follow that conscience against all wrong.
Our nation is crumbling right over the brink
That caused Rome's downfall to a bottomless sink.
Now who will be here to write such a history?
Ah! my dear comrades, that is the mystery.
Agnostics say bring the Bible down to the people
Instead of lifting the race to the Bible's high steeple.
Let me drop you this candid thought in a plain and positive tone:
Let's elevate the masses; better let that Bible alone.
O God! give us a little faith, and into this darkness
That's growing darker every day, Oh! send a ray of rest.
All hopes deal with the future, Lord, we hope for a better day;
As we drift down with the tide, guide us the right way.
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WHY
I do not write to please but, in writing the truth, hope to please. A single fact is worth a shipload of argument. It hurts us to admit facts. Truth is usually disagreeable and unpleasant but it is the truth just the same. If my language is strong, it is not from a desire to depart from the landmark of polite literature but simply to drive the truth home. If you think the statement of some of the facts are horrible, think how much more horrible is the reality and how essential that something should be done.
Shrewer, the great German artist, once painted a chimney sweep. You wouldn't allow the chimney sweep in your back yard but so perfect was the drawing that A. T. Stewart of New York gave him 40,000 for it. Kraust, the great animal painter of Russia, drew an old mule, just a common mule eating hay, then right beside it he drew the comical side of that mule with his ears way above the tree tops with chickens roosting on them. That old mule on the market would hardly draw 35.00, but so perfect was the work that the national museum gave him 37,000 for it. That's what art will do.
Dickens went down in the low, dirty slums of London, got those filthy characters, put them in book form, and now we sit down in our parlor and read the work of Dickens, and most of our schools adopt it as literature.
Shakespeare went among the criminal class of Europe, selected the darkest crimes of the continent, and today we rush out to see Shakespeare's plays. But it was not that old chimney sweep, nor the old mule, nor the slum characters, nor the criminals of Europe, but it was the truth painted on canvas and the truth written in book form. When you find men like Shrewer and Kraust who can paint the truth and men like Shakespeare and Dickens who can write the truth, there is nothing that can upset them. Some may ask, why speak of
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As well might you ask, “Why give the alarm when the house in which you are sleeping is on fire? Why cry aloud when the ship on which you are sailing has sprung a leak? Why wave the red flag when the train on which you are riding is rushing on to destruction?” Have you ever stopped to think of the sanctity of our homes, the sacredness of our schools and churches and society, and how immorality, like a canker worm, is eating out the very foundations of these divine institutions? Then ask me not why, everything of account in the world has to be cared for and protected. We work nine months to plant, cultivate, and gather a garden crop while weeds and dog fennel sown by accident and cultivated by chance will grow on the common highway, and the weeds, if neglected on the street side of the fence, will soon be growing in the garden. In fighting the child's battle, who cannot fight for himself, our work is never over. We are using this world for a playground instead of a schoolroom. We are making life a holiday instead of a workshop. We are keeping time and step with the music instead of the world facts and events.
We have not yet reached that stage in life where we can appreciate genuine manhood and depreciate its defects. We endorse crime by supporting criminals and encouraging dirt by supporting dirty men. The church no longer shrieks the important “thou shalt not” to certain evils, but simply points out the way and says, “be careful,” and a little later on they say, “it's too bad,” or “such is life.” Break the ten commandments, break all the rules of the church and decent society, but get that almighty dollar and pay your church dues and you are in good standing with the church and society. Because sin dresses well, looks nice, and acts so, it is not recognized as sin but is welcomed into the church and home, then we sit and sigh and often wonder why the rising generation is not any better. We need to be educated half way 'round the globe till
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As you read this book, remember that I am fighting the child's battle, who cannot fight for himself. Children are malleable; grown-ups are immalleable. As this generation is made up of folks with habits fixed for life, I am transferring my effects toward the interest of the next generation.
If I can drop a thought, advance an idea, or do an act that will benefit the next generation, I will feel repaid.
Germany and Japan, the worst enemies to Christian civilization, started forty years ago to train their children for the conflict just ended.
Let us constantly ask ourselves the question, “Is the child safe?”
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[These children make a thoughtless dash]
These children make a thoughtless dash
'Pon life's uncertain stage;
The program is left with us
In which they will engage.
'Pon life's uncertain stage;
The program is left with us
In which they will engage.
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These children pull life's curtain back.
What sights will meet their gaze?
That depends upon you and I,
Our sayings, doings, ways.
What sights will meet their gaze?
That depends upon you and I,
Our sayings, doings, ways.
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LET ME LIVE—
The hermit can't stand life's bright highway,
He seeks a secluded spot;
The sluggard is content to let life slip away
While he sits by and rots;
The genius, who has solved the ages' riddle,
Inquires, “Is life worth living?”
But I want to dwell in the midst of children,
And breathe pure life thanksgivings.
He seeks a secluded spot;
The sluggard is content to let life slip away
While he sits by and rots;
The genius, who has solved the ages' riddle,
Inquires, “Is life worth living?”
But I want to dwell in the midst of children,
And breathe pure life thanksgivings.
I want my house on life's highway
Where the children all pass by;
Children that are good—children bad—
As good and bad as I.
I would strengthen the conscience of children good,
The bad I would try to reform;
Let me live somewhere besides life's road
And protect the children from harm.
Where the children all pass by;
Children that are good—children bad—
As good and bad as I.
I would strengthen the conscience of children good,
The bad I would try to reform;
Let me live somewhere besides life's road
And protect the children from harm.
I want my house on life's highway
Where the child's awakening love
Charges, sustains, dissolves, creates,
Permeates and broods above.
Thus strengthened in life's great struggling sphere,
No coward soul would be mine,
For the child's love, arming me from fear,
Would make life's work sublime.
Where the child's awakening love
Charges, sustains, dissolves, creates,
Permeates and broods above.
Thus strengthened in life's great struggling sphere,
No coward soul would be mine,
For the child's love, arming me from fear,
Would make life's work sublime.
Could the centripetal forces ever triumph,
And the centrifugal forces yield,
And earth, moon, and stars would go shining in a lump
Through a disastrous human field;
But the acid counterbalances and keeps in touch,
And positive and negative form.
Let me always dwell in the children's camp,
And let be that acid strong.
And the centrifugal forces yield,
And earth, moon, and stars would go shining in a lump
Through a disastrous human field;
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And positive and negative form.
Let me always dwell in the children's camp,
And let be that acid strong.
I want my house on life's high hill
In sight of the gambler's den,
With the snares and traps that the wicked build
To entice the young mind in.
I would clear the road of all stumbling blocks
Such as the wicked sayings of men.
Let me live somewhere in the human flock
And be the children's friend.
In sight of the gambler's den,
With the snares and traps that the wicked build
To entice the young mind in.
I would clear the road of all stumbling blocks
Such as the wicked sayings of men.
Let me live somewhere in the human flock
And be the children's friend.
I'd like to have seen Moses in the flesh
And stood upon Mar's Hill with Paul;
And to have witnessed Rome in her height
Would have helped me in life's noble cause.
But I read somewhere, in a worn out book,
Where these men's deeds were told.
And they all fade away when the child stampede
Beleaguered the human soul.
And stood upon Mar's Hill with Paul;
And to have witnessed Rome in her height
Would have helped me in life's noble cause.
But I read somewhere, in a worn out book,
Where these men's deeds were told.
And they all fade away when the child stampede
Beleaguered the human soul.
So let me live right close to life's highway
Where the children stroll along,
Where I can breathe the youthful atmosphere
And sing the children's song.
I like to see them romp and play
And hark to their lullabys.
Let me always dwell on life's highway
Where the children all pass by.
Where the children stroll along,
Where I can breathe the youthful atmosphere
And sing the children's song.
I like to see them romp and play
And hark to their lullabys.
Let me always dwell on life's highway
Where the children all pass by.
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If I could build a building like this
And call it my very own,
I would fill it full of human bliss
And make it a children's home.
I would build the walls so high, so strong
That old Satan couldn't get in.
Let me always dwell in the human throng
And be the children's friend.
And call it my very own,
I would fill it full of human bliss
And make it a children's home.
I would build the walls so high, so strong
That old Satan couldn't get in.
Let me always dwell in the human throng
And be the children's friend.
I think when I read that sweet story of old,
When Jesus was here among men,
When He called little children as lambs to His fold,
I'd like to have been with them then.
When Jesus was here among men,
When He called little children as lambs to His fold,
I'd like to have been with them then.
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LOVE THE CHILDREN—
Love the children,Never doubt them.
Build a wall
Of love about them.
Love the children
And remember,
May is not like
Cold December.
Love the children,
Just as He did,
Who so nobly,
Humbly pleaded,
“Suffer them to
Come unto Me,
Forbid them not,”
Pleaded He.
But I've always
Loved the jewel,
Always the thought
That it was cruel
To effect their
Youthful beauty.
It has been a lifetime duty.
Love the children,
Never doubt them.
Build a wall of
Love about them.
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PHYLLIS WHEATLEY—
Phyllis Wheatley, a naked, savage child,Then a slave for twelve long years;
Then a scholar, poetess, then national fame.
Then immortal in the woman's sphere.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE—
That grand and noble woman dear,Called Harriet Beecher Stowe:
The book she wrote without a fear
Drove slavery from our shore.
To know her words, to feel her worth,
To read that noble book,
And see what dauntless words she spoke,
What fearful risks she took.
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EARTHLY ANGELS—
When I'm thinking of my Saviour,
When I'm seeking good behavior,
When I look for earthly angels,
Then I with children mingle.
When I'm seeking good behavior,
When I look for earthly angels,
Then I with children mingle.
When that gener'l role is thundered,
If among the saints I'm numbered,
I'm going to search that place of honor
Till I find the children's corner.
If among the saints I'm numbered,
I'm going to search that place of honor
Till I find the children's corner.
Then when I find it—I'm going to tell
Whole lots of angels to ring those bells;
When the bells start ringing, I'll just tell 'em
We children're going to strut all over God's heaven.
Whole lots of angels to ring those bells;
When the bells start ringing, I'll just tell 'em
We children're going to strut all over God's heaven.
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FACTS—
Do You Know That—
Deep in each artist's soul some picture liesThat he will never paint for mortal eyes?
And every author in his heart doth hold
Some sad, sweet tale that he will leave untold?
Besides That—
There are poems unwritten and songs unsungSweeter than any that ever was heard;
Poems that will wait for an angel's tongue,
Songs that wait for a paradise bird.
And Then—
I don't believe that a song is sungBut the singer's heart sings sweeter.
I don't believe a rhyme can be rung
But the thought surpasses the meter.
I don't believe that a painter's stroke
Can draw what the heart to conscience spoke.
But My Friends—
The kind of man for you and meFaces the world unflinchingly
And smites, as long as wrong resists,
With knuckled faith and force-like fists.
He lives the life he is preaching of,
And loves where most there is need of love.
And feeling still, with a faith half clad,
That the bad are as good as the good are bad,
He strikes right out for the right, and he
Is the kind of a man for you and me.
If you can't take a stand for right,
And hold your own in the thickest fight,
And in that way prevent human strife,
Stay off the frontier of public life!
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TWO CHILDREN—
I saw two small children entwine
Their arms about each other
Like the little tendrils of the vine
Around its nearest brother;
And ever and anon,
So gayly they ran on,
Each looked into the other's face
Anticipating an embrace.
Their arms about each other
Like the little tendrils of the vine
Around its nearest brother;
And ever and anon,
So gayly they ran on,
Each looked into the other's face
Anticipating an embrace.
And all my thoughts went with the pair.
I ran my fingers through my hair
And wished I had a child's embrace.
They're undefiled—and not debase.
I ran my fingers through my hair
And wished I had a child's embrace.
They're undefiled—and not debase.
Innocent child and snow-white flower,
Well are you paired in your opening hour,
Thus should the pure and the lovely meet:
Stainless with stainless and sweet with sweet.
Well are you paired in your opening hour,
Thus should the pure and the lovely meet:
Stainless with stainless and sweet with sweet.
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WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?—
As you travel along life's highway,Are you going up or down?
Or are you simply standing still,
And going 'round and 'round?
Are you helping move the wheel
Of human progress up and on?
If not, are you of service or as
Obstruction to the throng?
If you've never helped a brother
With his struggles and his strife,
If you've never made another
Have a happier time in life,
If you've never been consoling
To the weary, sick and worn,
Of what service are you
In this lovely land of morn?
If you've never made a comrade
Feel the world's a better place
Because you've lived within it
And had served it with a grace?
If you've never heard a woman
Or a little child proclaim
A blessing on your doings,
You're a poor hand at the game.
If you've never made the pathway
Of some neighbor glow with sun,
If you've never dropped a bubble
To some youngster's heart with fun,
If you've never cheered a toiler
That you've helped to get along—
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In this lovely land of song?
If you see a woman smoking,
Drinking, wallowing in the gutter,
Detrimental to posterity,
Especially one who's a mother,
Have you the moral courage
To induce her to come up,
Or do you fear the hissing crowd?
If so, you are corrupt.
If you should see a helpless child
Just going to destruction,
And it's within your power
To move the main obstruction
Would you remove that stumbling block
To save the children's pride?
Or would you rather have the world's applause?
If so, go off and hide!
Man conquered the sea and land
And now has grasped the air;
He concentrates them to his will
But not for man's welfare.
He uses all research of science
To perfect hellish wars,
To butcher his fellowman
And annihilate God's cause.
Man travels far above the clouds,
With silvery airplane bright.
He challenges the eagle and
O'ertakes him in his flight.
But those are but man's trifles,
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While justice, peace and liberty
Are still the world's great needs.
Man paints his own pictures,
Man prints his own books,
But his blood doesn't circulate
By his own whines and hooks.
Our God gave man his limit—
So far and no farther;
He knows man would use it
For his own earthly barter.
Should Japan reach her final goal
To unite all darker races,
To present a solid phalanx front
To heal all past disgraces,
And when she asks us Americans,
“Friends, what have you to offer?”
We'll gasp like some dumb, driven beast
And Japan would be the scoffer.
The cause of education
Once had as its great goal
The education of the heart,
The head, the hand, the soul;
But now it's concentrating
All its forces in the feet,
And “Look up, lift up,” has no voice,
The underworld has beat.
The grand old church once lowered its gap
In compromise with the world,
And now she's torn all fences down
And joined in with the twirl.
The devil, he's just tickled;
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How he rules the entire nation
With his wicked, lustful sin.
Are you denouncing all that's wrong
And advocating right,
To teach our youth to “Look up, lift up,”
Give the world more light?
Can you be sympathetic
When the human heart throb sighs?
If not, why don't you step aside
And let the world go by?
Oh! when that general roll is called,
What's going to be your answer
When Peter asks what you've opposed
And what things you have sanctioned?
And as you view those pearly gates
And those bright mansions of mirth,
Conscience will put the question—
What's your record while on earth?
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RETRIBUTION—
God counts the Negro's tears.
I caution you, be careful, then,
Judges, jurors, brutes and men,
Be careful and assuage his fears
And protect him through the years.
Before God's throne the pearls you'll lay,
He'll count them on the Judgment Day.
And he who tally keeps will hear
The echoes of the deadening years.
God counts the Negro's tears.
I caution you, be careful, then,
Judges, jurors, brutes and men,
Be careful and assuage his fears
And protect him through the years.
Before God's throne the pearls you'll lay,
He'll count them on the Judgment Day.
And he who tally keeps will hear
The echoes of the deadening years.
God counts the Negro's tears.
God counts the Negro's tears.
When slavery's horrors reached midnight,
All consciousness had taken flight,
Human brutality had no fear,
Cruelty stood out as human peer.
God called Abe Lincoln upon the stage
To show the depth of this outrage.
He stood amidst their threats and jeers,
And poured plain justice in their ears.
God counts the Negro's tears.
When slavery's horrors reached midnight,
All consciousness had taken flight,
Human brutality had no fear,
Cruelty stood out as human peer.
God called Abe Lincoln upon the stage
To show the depth of this outrage.
He stood amidst their threats and jeers,
And poured plain justice in their ears.
God counts the Negro's tears.
God counts the Negro's tears.
The Ku Klux Klan took charge of state.
Again it was the Negro's fate.
This low black spot of great despair
Made ancient cruelties lift their hair.
This reached the lowest stage for years,
With cruelty beyond compare,
Till God, with pestilent disease,
Scattered the Ku Klux Klan like wintry leaves.
God counts the Negro's tears.
The Ku Klux Klan took charge of state.
Again it was the Negro's fate.
This low black spot of great despair
Made ancient cruelties lift their hair.
This reached the lowest stage for years,
With cruelty beyond compare,
Till God, with pestilent disease,
Scattered the Ku Klux Klan like wintry leaves.
God counts the Negro's tears.
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God counts the Negro's tears.
Ye lynchers with your bloodiest page
That shocked the Russians' cruel outrage,
You stand on cruelty's page as peers,
Your civilization is veneered.
And worst of all since God's creation,
The lowest depths of degradation,
Fished from the foulest beast, my dear,
With lynchers' crime will not compare.
God counts the Negro's tears.
Ye lynchers with your bloodiest page
That shocked the Russians' cruel outrage,
You stand on cruelty's page as peers,
Your civilization is veneered.
And worst of all since God's creation,
The lowest depths of degradation,
Fished from the foulest beast, my dear,
With lynchers' crime will not compare.
God counts the Negro's tears.
God counts the Negro's tears.
Five hundred strong, the low mob rage,
Takes one poor Negro off the stage.
Innocence lynched 'midst shouts and cheers.
The helpless community stands by in fear.
With one cyclone God sweeps a town,
Auto and train wrecks mow men down.
The flu comes along, makes millions sneeze,
The war brings nations to their knees.
God counts the Negro's tears.
Five hundred strong, the low mob rage,
Takes one poor Negro off the stage.
Innocence lynched 'midst shouts and cheers.
The helpless community stands by in fear.
With one cyclone God sweeps a town,
Auto and train wrecks mow men down.
The flu comes along, makes millions sneeze,
The war brings nations to their knees.
God counts the Negro's tears.
God counts the Negro's tears.
O white man, have you any heart?
And did your senses ever start?
Have you no scruples, can you hear
The wails and cries and yet forbear?
I caution you, this lynching bee
And Ku Klux Klan you'll surely see.
I caution you, be careful, then,
Judges, jurors, brutes and men.
God counts the Negro's tears.
O white man, have you any heart?
And did your senses ever start?
Have you no scruples, can you hear
The wails and cries and yet forbear?
I caution you, this lynching bee
And Ku Klux Klan you'll surely see.
I caution you, be careful, then,
Judges, jurors, brutes and men.
God counts the Negro's tears.
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God counts the Negro's tears.
For many years he cried for aid,
America's conscience all seemed stayed.
His punishment has vanished fear,
These race riots reveal the bier.
In East St. Louis some truths were told,
Washington and Chicago increased the fold,
Then Omaha applied the spear,
And Tulsa quieted all their jeers.
God counts the Negro's tears.
For many years he cried for aid,
America's conscience all seemed stayed.
His punishment has vanished fear,
These race riots reveal the bier.
In East St. Louis some truths were told,
Washington and Chicago increased the fold,
Then Omaha applied the spear,
And Tulsa quieted all their jeers.
God counts the Negro's tears.
God counts the Negro's tears.
God's rules of fifty centuries ago
Are still in vogue, are still aglow.
When a man sows in the natural field,
A harvest it is expected to yield.
The process may be somewhat slow,
But you are to reap just what you sow.
They used to lynch their poor black brother,
But now they're lynching one another.
God counts the Negro's tears.
God's rules of fifty centuries ago
Are still in vogue, are still aglow.
When a man sows in the natural field,
A harvest it is expected to yield.
The process may be somewhat slow,
But you are to reap just what you sow.
They used to lynch their poor black brother,
But now they're lynching one another.
God counts the Negro's tears.
God counts the Negro's tears.
I caution you, just watch the tide
On which the Exodus doth ride
Into a purer, higher sphere
Where men are men and brutes are jeered.
The fields are growing up in weeds,
Revealing all past wicked deeds.
The Negro left his southern fear
All wrapped up in his vanished gear.
God counts the Negro's tears.
I caution you, just watch the tide
On which the Exodus doth ride
Into a purer, higher sphere
Where men are men and brutes are jeered.
The fields are growing up in weeds,
Revealing all past wicked deeds.
The Negro left his southern fear
All wrapped up in his vanished gear.
God counts the Negro's tears.
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God counts the Negro's tears.
At home he has no chance at all,
But sometimes otherwise he's called.
With Roosevelt on San Juan Hill,
He took that Fort 'midst shouts and thrills.
And on that noted Hindenburg line
He joined the French in the nick of time,
And picked up the motto “They shall not pass,”
And mowed down Germans until the last.
God counts the Negro's tears.
At home he has no chance at all,
But sometimes otherwise he's called.
With Roosevelt on San Juan Hill,
He took that Fort 'midst shouts and thrills.
And on that noted Hindenburg line
He joined the French in the nick of time,
And picked up the motto “They shall not pass,”
And mowed down Germans until the last.
God counts the Negro's tears.
God counts the Negro's tears.
Dixon and Mencken, like heartless beasts,
In search of literary feasts,
Are using vitriol's pen undilute
To paint the Negro as a brute;
But the interracial group at work
No God-sent duty dares to shirk,
Are striving to place upon the mart
That beneath that black skin dwells a heart.
God counts the Negro's tears.
Dixon and Mencken, like heartless beasts,
In search of literary feasts,
Are using vitriol's pen undilute
To paint the Negro as a brute;
But the interracial group at work
No God-sent duty dares to shirk,
Are striving to place upon the mart
That beneath that black skin dwells a heart.
God counts the Negro's tears.
God counts the Negro's tears.
Right now in the midst of all this drought
The good white women of the South
Are sending appeals to men of state,
That lynching they must exterminate.
And when a bunch of women vow,
Mr. Weak-kneed man can only bow.
I see that lynching is doomed to fall,
By the women's handwriting on the wall.
God counts the Negro's tears.
Right now in the midst of all this drought
The good white women of the South
Are sending appeals to men of state,
That lynching they must exterminate.
And when a bunch of women vow,
Mr. Weak-kneed man can only bow.
I see that lynching is doomed to fall,
By the women's handwriting on the wall.
God counts the Negro's tears.
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God counts the Negro's tears.
This country cannot see its flaws.
The white men make and break the laws.
The Negro waits for revolution,
But God's on high—watch retribution.
Did you catch the trend of the last election,
Have you given it a serious reflection?
The “solid South” was torn asunder,
The Democratic Party scattered like plunder.
God counts the Negro's tears.
This country cannot see its flaws.
The white men make and break the laws.
The Negro waits for revolution,
But God's on high—watch retribution.
Did you catch the trend of the last election,
Have you given it a serious reflection?
The “solid South” was torn asunder,
The Democratic Party scattered like plunder.
God counts the Negro's tears.
45
WOMAN—
Once a woman tried to show me something spotless, bright and pure;
And she picked for illustration objects of the dirtiest hue.
“Lady,” said I, eager, anxious, “why do you choose things so vile?”
“Just to show the cleansing process,” said the lady with a smile.
Then she said, “These dirtiest colors, hardest to remove of all,
Can be made, by constant rubbing, white as snowflakes in their fall.”
These words struck my soul with power, made my heart within me throb,
“Dirtiest colors—white as snowflakes,” can this woman, cannot God?
Some noble, stalwart woman has, in every time and place,
Wielded influence good or bad upon the human race.
For when a woman makes a vow that she will do a thing,
She's sure to win, or else she'll make opponent's conscience ring.
And she picked for illustration objects of the dirtiest hue.
“Lady,” said I, eager, anxious, “why do you choose things so vile?”
“Just to show the cleansing process,” said the lady with a smile.
Then she said, “These dirtiest colors, hardest to remove of all,
Can be made, by constant rubbing, white as snowflakes in their fall.”
These words struck my soul with power, made my heart within me throb,
“Dirtiest colors—white as snowflakes,” can this woman, cannot God?
Some noble, stalwart woman has, in every time and place,
Wielded influence good or bad upon the human race.
For when a woman makes a vow that she will do a thing,
She's sure to win, or else she'll make opponent's conscience ring.
And it is true as night and day that women of all nations
Have moulded influence of the world that built up civilization.
Have moulded influence of the world that built up civilization.
Few men of crime can stand to break a woman's heart—perchance,
Some nations changed their Ship of State upon a woman's glance.
Some nations changed their Ship of State upon a woman's glance.
Fair Helen sealed the fate of Troy, and queens of ancient times
Have led brave hearts in cause of truth and made the wrong decline.
Have led brave hearts in cause of truth and made the wrong decline.
46
Old Satan lifted up his form six thousand years ago,
And started out for doing wrong—and all things right deplore.
He has stalked across the nations, in every land and sea,
And ever since creation he has had his timely plea.
Sometimes nations, sometimes empires, have been kneeling at his shrine,
But his individual efforts are as old and long as time.
He first entreated Adam whom the Lord made like Himself,
Tried to make him bite the apple, break the laws his Lord had left.
Finding Adam fixed in purpose, he confronted noble Eve,
Whose heart he was surely certain he could tangle and deceive.
Noble Eve, like most good women, fascinated with a speech,
Took it all in sacred omen and toward the apple reached.
Well, she bit it—then she passed it to her helpmate by her side.
And his bite to please the woman placed us in a sinful tide.
He took the heart of Samson's wife and stopped its pulsing beat,
And made her take her husband's life by womanly deceit.
He could not shake good, patient Job. He took his weakly wife,
And used her as a culprit probe to culminate his life.
And Lot's wife, on a mission bent, he brought her to a halt.
She never reached her destined end. He turned her into salt.
And started out for doing wrong—and all things right deplore.
He has stalked across the nations, in every land and sea,
And ever since creation he has had his timely plea.
Sometimes nations, sometimes empires, have been kneeling at his shrine,
But his individual efforts are as old and long as time.
He first entreated Adam whom the Lord made like Himself,
Tried to make him bite the apple, break the laws his Lord had left.
Finding Adam fixed in purpose, he confronted noble Eve,
Whose heart he was surely certain he could tangle and deceive.
Noble Eve, like most good women, fascinated with a speech,
Took it all in sacred omen and toward the apple reached.
Well, she bit it—then she passed it to her helpmate by her side.
And his bite to please the woman placed us in a sinful tide.
He took the heart of Samson's wife and stopped its pulsing beat,
And made her take her husband's life by womanly deceit.
He could not shake good, patient Job. He took his weakly wife,
And used her as a culprit probe to culminate his life.
And Lot's wife, on a mission bent, he brought her to a halt.
She never reached her destined end. He turned her into salt.
But the greatest gift in the Bible, so our Saviour did recite,
Was that simple little token that we call the widow's mite.
Was that simple little token that we call the widow's mite.
And the strongest tie of woman's faith that could not be concealed—
“Let me touch the hem of His garment and I know that I'll be healed.”
“Let me touch the hem of His garment and I know that I'll be healed.”
47
Then, when our Lord was crucified and placed within the tomb,
A woman was the last to leave that sacred place of gloom.
And on the resurrection morn, while gloom was yet abroad,
A woman broke the first glad news that “We have seen the Lord.”
A woman was the last to leave that sacred place of gloom.
And on the resurrection morn, while gloom was yet abroad,
A woman broke the first glad news that “We have seen the Lord.”
Joan of Arc, with an army large and electrified woman's glance,
Routed England's mighty army and saved the day for France.
Routed England's mighty army and saved the day for France.
Queen Victoria brought England through her greatest revolutions.
By teaching her that sacred homes were God-sent institutions.
Her reign was long and prosperous. Her subjects were her crowns.
She won the love of Europe and died in great renown.
By teaching her that sacred homes were God-sent institutions.
Her reign was long and prosperous. Her subjects were her crowns.
She won the love of Europe and died in great renown.
It was a woman's iron will baked by motherly love
That entreated all authorities, then appealed to God above,
Then climbed the belfry steep and high and grasped the clapper tight,
And vowed with all her inner soul “Curfew shall not ring tonight.”
She struck a blow to slavery's tree that burned its very life,
That scorched the undergrowth around and left it in a strife.
It parched the branches to a crust, withered its leaves in twain,
And drove the sap into the ground, never to rise again.
She stood nearer the throne of God than all false priests before,
And turned the searchlight on to show the heartaches and the woes.
That entreated all authorities, then appealed to God above,
Then climbed the belfry steep and high and grasped the clapper tight,
And vowed with all her inner soul “Curfew shall not ring tonight.”
She struck a blow to slavery's tree that burned its very life,
That scorched the undergrowth around and left it in a strife.
It parched the branches to a crust, withered its leaves in twain,
And drove the sap into the ground, never to rise again.
She stood nearer the throne of God than all false priests before,
And turned the searchlight on to show the heartaches and the woes.
48
The “Battle Hymn of the Republic” by the noted Julia Ward Howe,
Aroused this entire nation, and made proud soldiers bow.
Aroused this entire nation, and made proud soldiers bow.
Sojourner Truth twice sold as a slave, undaunted by the wicked throng,
Cried out to Lincoln in his darkest hours, “God is not dead—march on!”
Cried out to Lincoln in his darkest hours, “God is not dead—march on!”
Frances Willard, with her strong band, brought temperance to its goal,
And counted her work as not in vain if she'd saved one dear soul.
The women, struggling forty years, drove whiskey from our states,
And asked the men in Congress to keep watch at the gates.
But the men with dirty politics just messed up the whole field,
And sent the nation frantically out calling for repeal.
And counted her work as not in vain if she'd saved one dear soul.
The women, struggling forty years, drove whiskey from our states,
And asked the men in Congress to keep watch at the gates.
But the men with dirty politics just messed up the whole field,
And sent the nation frantically out calling for repeal.
Then Frances Harper, of our own race, with power inspired from above,
With lucid voice and pen of grace, filled up with hope and love,
Woke the dear pulse of joy supreme in our discouraged hearts;
Dispelled the long elusive dream, made new ambitions start.
With lucid voice and pen of grace, filled up with hope and love,
Woke the dear pulse of joy supreme in our discouraged hearts;
Dispelled the long elusive dream, made new ambitions start.
Then Anna Julia Cooper 'rose, in her “Voice from the South,”
And struck prejudice a mighty blow and gave to wrong a drought.
She wrote strong words and tried to strike the conscience of the nation,
To see that all men are alike and have been since creation.
And struck prejudice a mighty blow and gave to wrong a drought.
She wrote strong words and tried to strike the conscience of the nation,
To see that all men are alike and have been since creation.
49
Could Ida Wells have raised a force to follow her crusade,
This dreadful crime called lynching, long in darkness would be laid.
This dreadful crime called lynching, long in darkness would be laid.
Then comes Jane Addams of Hull House fame, a political and social reformer;
She went into the streets and alleys as a wayward girl reformer.
Correction and charities filled her heart as she went forth to battle—
The spirit of growth—the city streets, with new conscience as a chattel.
She asked the men of her town to clean up the city.
They said sarcastically, “Clean it yourself.” She cleaned it and made them jittery.
She went into the streets and alleys as a wayward girl reformer.
Correction and charities filled her heart as she went forth to battle—
The spirit of growth—the city streets, with new conscience as a chattel.
She asked the men of her town to clean up the city.
They said sarcastically, “Clean it yourself.” She cleaned it and made them jittery.
The greatest woman of modern times, of world-wide high distinction,
Gave to the world in time of need the immortal Abraham Lincoln.
Gave to the world in time of need the immortal Abraham Lincoln.
Another one of great renown gave us a noble pearl,
By bringing forth an Edison to electrify the world.
By bringing forth an Edison to electrify the world.
Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune, a Florida country school teacher,
Then builded a famous college; is now a national figure.
Then builded a famous college; is now a national figure.
But the greatest woman in the mart, ask any sister or brother,
The echo'd come from every heart—that woman's name is Mother.
The echo'd come from every heart—that woman's name is Mother.
50
THE NEW WOMAN—
The woman are wearing britches now;You can't tell one from the other.
She's tumbled down from her lofty throne
To man, down in the gutter.
There she's smoking, drinking, gambling,
The world stands aghast, chagrined,
The human race is turning backward,
And is on the downward trend.
The winding circle of cigar's smoke
Doesn't measure the height of manhood's yoke,
Nor can a filthy cigarette butt
Elevate a woman out of the rut.
Woman, who's upheld the moral code
During all the centuries past,
Has turned things topsy turvy,
And the world stands by aghast.
The child is born from a cigarette body,
Its first caresses from a lip soaked tardy.
As goes woman, so go morals.
Where is the race to get its laurels?
Oh! If I had a voice, a persuasive voice,
I'd penetrate the heart of woman
And show her how this moral world
Is hanging now upon her omen.
O woman, have you any heart,
And did you ever sigh?
And did your senses ever start
At the future's wailing cry?
O woman, won't you help us
To pray to your Almighty God
51
Ere we it all absorb?
O woman, just for childhood's sake
With one good hearty throb,
Won't you help us pray one prayer
To your Almighty God?
O God! give us a little faith,
And into this darkness
That's getting deeper every day,
Oh, send a light of rest!
All hopes deal with the future, Lord,
We hope for better days,
And while we're drifting down the tide,
Show us the right way.
Laurels of this world are sweet,
But they soon pass away.
The child's laurels are dark right now.
Can't we brighten the forthcoming days?
52
HUMAN DRIFTWOOD—
You have asked me to write a poem,
I suppose on the way the world's going;
Naturally you'd expect me, without any guile,
To speak in defense of the helpless child.
The child with a doll and toys that rattle,
The child not able to fight its own battles,
The child that mother's neglecting today,
And school teacher's 'lowing its morals to sway,
The child the church doesn't take in accord,
'Cause the preacher is busy after worldly rewards,
The child that's today being led by the hand,
But tomorrow its service will be in demand.
Could Douglass and Lincoln step back to earth
And catch a glimpse of our present mirth,
They'd hang their heads in blushing shame
Uttering “Our blood was shed in vain.”
According to every indication,
We sadly need re-emancipation.
Emancipation from the traits and twirls
That resemble the life of the underworld.
The frivolous, giddy and silly today
Have put real life in deep dismay.
Society is driftwood on the sea
Moved by the wave of the wicked glee.
And this little town has gone plum wild
Over the vulgar dance in all its beguile.
Today it's a part of our education
As well as the depth of degradation.
You've seen a restless horse in a prance:
That's this town in its vicious dance.
The dance itself may not be so bad,
But its avenue to wreckage is sad.
Today life's a hop, a skip and a jump
From the dancing den to the human dump
It's been a downfall and a curse
To millions, and is growing worse.
'Twas the life of the giddy Hottentots
And the Indians in their war-hoop hops.
Intelligent people in those days
Found amusement in much higher ways.
They used to dance to keep in style,
But now they're dancing by the mile.
They used to dance till near midnight,
But now they dance till broad daylight.
They dance all day, they dance all night,
Till dancing has become a fright.
In order to dance the church into hell
They start on Sunday night at twelve.
But the most disgusting thing of all—
They now give Sunday morning balls.
They've taken the sacred Easter name
And danced it into disgraceful shame.
If Christ'd come here in search of bread,
They'd dance the thorns down on His head,
And as the blood'd ooze down His face,
They'd dance on in their wild disgrace.
And if He'd ask “Why all of this?”
They'd give Him a twentieth-century hiss.
They've danced till when they go to church,
They have a headache—being still so much.
They've danced the church into disrepute
And dare the preacher to refute.
They've danced the preacher into gambling dens,
And now when they preach—there are no sins.
They've danced the church and Sunday schools
To the muddy summer swimming pools.
They've danced the young people's Sunday meet
Out to the road house all complete.
They've danced around the fireside
Until the home has lost its pride.
They've danced our homes into gambling dens,
And whoopee joints for women and men.
The child's disturbed in its midnight slumbers
By shuffling cards and ball room plunder.
And instead of rising 'midst morning prayers
It's picking up rubbish from all-night affairs.
The child learns to handle a deck of cards
Before it learns the name of God.
And ere a child learns to walk erect,
It knows all the jazz of disrespect.
Before a child gets into its teens,
It's in these halls with dancing fiends.
If you ask the mother, “Why such a fate?”
“I want my child to be up-to-date.”
Up-to-date with the underworld,
And a disgrace to all life's finer pearls.
They've danced all our secret orders
Out of existence—ask the recorders.
They've danced their dresses up to their knees.
They've danced until they have no sleeves.
And if you'd promise not to scoff,
Some of 'em'd dance their dresses off.
They've danced pink stockings up to their waists,
All visible, but it's no disgrace.
They've danced until, well, I suppose,
They think it useless to be in clothes.
They've danced to the half a garment age
Like the heart and freak of the old stone age.
And this is morality and self respect!
O God! bring the stone age back on deck.
They've danced until the opposite sex
For genuine woman has no respect.
They've danced till even womankind
Has caused her self respect to decline.
They've danced till they have no respect
For things that are of high effect.
They've danced all modesty to the rear,
And give to character a wicked jeer.
All slang and low profanity
Is the real life blood of humanity.
They've danced away from modern care
Into a world of pits and snares.
And now the town isn't large enough
So they've gone to the woods with the filthy stuff.
They've danced till dance halls lost their charm
And now they dance through the woods till dawn.
A school teacher can ruin a helpless school girl
And go right on teaching as though he's a pearl.
Our so-called leaders will quiet it down,
Notwithstanding they have children in town.
They never stop to think for a while
That that girl is some mother's child.
They've danced our girls into gambling dens.
Into low poolrooms with rankest of men.
They've danced all places of recreation
Into downright, outlaw bootleg stations.
They've danced the bootlegger into success
And got this town into a terrible mess.
To make the country a nation of fools,
They've opened up wicked dancing schools.
They've danced until the dollar rules,
There's no moral suasion in our schools.
These all-night parties, all supreme,
Have danced our girls into cigarette fiends.
And so-called boasted ruby lips
Are sallowed with tainted cigarette tips.
I see that temperance is on the wane
Since woman refuses to abstain.
They've danced modesty so low down
Till conversations are whispering sounds.
School teachers, bootleggers, mothers and gamblers
Are all mixed up in a human scramble.
It's the life of the vicious, the life of the low,
Intelligent people should count for no more.
It was a relic in barbarous marts
In heathen India—among Hottentots.
Cicero styled them as maniac fools,
Socrates and Plato as human cesspools.
They danced proud Rome down to the lowest depths,
And brought Greece down to a prostrate death.
Dissipated the mind, corrupted the heart,
Seared the conscience and wrecked all parts.
They danced till hell with its wicked net
Has made women slaves to cigarettes.
And this, with the club rooms and bootleg drink,
Has placed them in the human garbage sink.
The midnight puffs and the midnight sips
Have taken the ruby from woman's lips;
It has also taken refinement off—
And as to modesty—gives it a scoff.
All this mess is the underworld glow,
It receives its start on the ballroom floor.
And the ballroom gets its sure foundation
From the homelife's wicked recreation.
I suppose on the way the world's going;
Naturally you'd expect me, without any guile,
To speak in defense of the helpless child.
The child with a doll and toys that rattle,
The child not able to fight its own battles,
The child that mother's neglecting today,
And school teacher's 'lowing its morals to sway,
The child the church doesn't take in accord,
'Cause the preacher is busy after worldly rewards,
The child that's today being led by the hand,
But tomorrow its service will be in demand.
Could Douglass and Lincoln step back to earth
And catch a glimpse of our present mirth,
They'd hang their heads in blushing shame
Uttering “Our blood was shed in vain.”
According to every indication,
We sadly need re-emancipation.
Emancipation from the traits and twirls
That resemble the life of the underworld.
The frivolous, giddy and silly today
Have put real life in deep dismay.
Society is driftwood on the sea
Moved by the wave of the wicked glee.
And this little town has gone plum wild
Over the vulgar dance in all its beguile.
Today it's a part of our education
As well as the depth of degradation.
You've seen a restless horse in a prance:
53
The dance itself may not be so bad,
But its avenue to wreckage is sad.
Today life's a hop, a skip and a jump
From the dancing den to the human dump
It's been a downfall and a curse
To millions, and is growing worse.
'Twas the life of the giddy Hottentots
And the Indians in their war-hoop hops.
Intelligent people in those days
Found amusement in much higher ways.
They used to dance to keep in style,
But now they're dancing by the mile.
They used to dance till near midnight,
But now they dance till broad daylight.
They dance all day, they dance all night,
Till dancing has become a fright.
In order to dance the church into hell
They start on Sunday night at twelve.
But the most disgusting thing of all—
They now give Sunday morning balls.
They've taken the sacred Easter name
And danced it into disgraceful shame.
If Christ'd come here in search of bread,
They'd dance the thorns down on His head,
And as the blood'd ooze down His face,
They'd dance on in their wild disgrace.
And if He'd ask “Why all of this?”
They'd give Him a twentieth-century hiss.
They've danced till when they go to church,
They have a headache—being still so much.
54
And dare the preacher to refute.
They've danced the preacher into gambling dens,
And now when they preach—there are no sins.
They've danced the church and Sunday schools
To the muddy summer swimming pools.
They've danced the young people's Sunday meet
Out to the road house all complete.
They've danced around the fireside
Until the home has lost its pride.
They've danced our homes into gambling dens,
And whoopee joints for women and men.
The child's disturbed in its midnight slumbers
By shuffling cards and ball room plunder.
And instead of rising 'midst morning prayers
It's picking up rubbish from all-night affairs.
The child learns to handle a deck of cards
Before it learns the name of God.
And ere a child learns to walk erect,
It knows all the jazz of disrespect.
Before a child gets into its teens,
It's in these halls with dancing fiends.
If you ask the mother, “Why such a fate?”
“I want my child to be up-to-date.”
Up-to-date with the underworld,
And a disgrace to all life's finer pearls.
They've danced all our secret orders
Out of existence—ask the recorders.
They've danced their dresses up to their knees.
They've danced until they have no sleeves.
And if you'd promise not to scoff,
55
They've danced pink stockings up to their waists,
All visible, but it's no disgrace.
They've danced until, well, I suppose,
They think it useless to be in clothes.
They've danced to the half a garment age
Like the heart and freak of the old stone age.
And this is morality and self respect!
O God! bring the stone age back on deck.
They've danced until the opposite sex
For genuine woman has no respect.
They've danced till even womankind
Has caused her self respect to decline.
They've danced till they have no respect
For things that are of high effect.
They've danced all modesty to the rear,
And give to character a wicked jeer.
All slang and low profanity
Is the real life blood of humanity.
They've danced away from modern care
Into a world of pits and snares.
And now the town isn't large enough
So they've gone to the woods with the filthy stuff.
They've danced till dance halls lost their charm
And now they dance through the woods till dawn.
A school teacher can ruin a helpless school girl
And go right on teaching as though he's a pearl.
Our so-called leaders will quiet it down,
Notwithstanding they have children in town.
They never stop to think for a while
That that girl is some mother's child.
56
Into low poolrooms with rankest of men.
They've danced all places of recreation
Into downright, outlaw bootleg stations.
They've danced the bootlegger into success
And got this town into a terrible mess.
To make the country a nation of fools,
They've opened up wicked dancing schools.
They've danced until the dollar rules,
There's no moral suasion in our schools.
These all-night parties, all supreme,
Have danced our girls into cigarette fiends.
And so-called boasted ruby lips
Are sallowed with tainted cigarette tips.
I see that temperance is on the wane
Since woman refuses to abstain.
They've danced modesty so low down
Till conversations are whispering sounds.
School teachers, bootleggers, mothers and gamblers
Are all mixed up in a human scramble.
It's the life of the vicious, the life of the low,
Intelligent people should count for no more.
It was a relic in barbarous marts
In heathen India—among Hottentots.
Cicero styled them as maniac fools,
Socrates and Plato as human cesspools.
They danced proud Rome down to the lowest depths,
And brought Greece down to a prostrate death.
Dissipated the mind, corrupted the heart,
Seared the conscience and wrecked all parts.
They danced till hell with its wicked net
57
And this, with the club rooms and bootleg drink,
Has placed them in the human garbage sink.
The midnight puffs and the midnight sips
Have taken the ruby from woman's lips;
It has also taken refinement off—
And as to modesty—gives it a scoff.
All this mess is the underworld glow,
It receives its start on the ballroom floor.
And the ballroom gets its sure foundation
From the homelife's wicked recreation.
And now let's quietly count the cost
And see what is one night's gain or loss:
With toes stuck down and heels bent in
And bodies shaped like a string in the wind,
The next day as a firm aspect
They hobble along like a human wreck.
One month's salary for an evening dress,
The next day ruined for want of rest.
With nerves unstrung and heart molested,
Feet cramped up makes blood congested.
Morale depraved and mind deranged,
Tell me, what has been the gain?
What has it added to young womanhood?
To human uplift, what is its good?
Has it inspired anyone to aim high?
To look up, lift up, all wrong defy?
Suppose the Saviour on His second trip
Should find you hugged in a ballroom grip;
With you in your giddy, vicious affair
Would you ask Him to have a seat
And wait till your monkeyshines were complete?
How can you shape the destinies of men
And wallow with them in the rankest of sin?
How can we lift our youngsters up
When we let them dance with the lowest pups?
And see what is one night's gain or loss:
With toes stuck down and heels bent in
And bodies shaped like a string in the wind,
The next day as a firm aspect
They hobble along like a human wreck.
One month's salary for an evening dress,
The next day ruined for want of rest.
With nerves unstrung and heart molested,
Feet cramped up makes blood congested.
Morale depraved and mind deranged,
Tell me, what has been the gain?
What has it added to young womanhood?
To human uplift, what is its good?
Has it inspired anyone to aim high?
To look up, lift up, all wrong defy?
Suppose the Saviour on His second trip
Should find you hugged in a ballroom grip;
With you in your giddy, vicious affair
58
And wait till your monkeyshines were complete?
How can you shape the destinies of men
And wallow with them in the rankest of sin?
How can we lift our youngsters up
When we let them dance with the lowest pups?
“She stoops to conquer” will still hold its place
Till the ballroom sinks into disgrace.
Now according to these indications,
Don't we need re-emancipation?
Till the ballroom sinks into disgrace.
Now according to these indications,
Don't we need re-emancipation?
87
MRS. C. E. STEPHENS—
(Retired school teacher after three score years of service.)
It's a pleasure to pay this tribute
To the grand and noble woman,
Mrs. Charlotte E. Stephens, who
Adopted as her omen
The building of human character,
And she fought for it like a Trojan.
To the grand and noble woman,
Mrs. Charlotte E. Stephens, who
Adopted as her omen
The building of human character,
And she fought for it like a Trojan.
Now let's run up the balance sheet
And see just how she stands;
What has she done in the sixty years
To meet the world's demands?
What has she done in the building of men
In accordance with God's command?
And see just how she stands;
What has she done in the sixty years
To meet the world's demands?
What has she done in the building of men
In accordance with God's command?
What has been her real value
In this world of intellect?
What has she contributed to the world
That's above her cash assets?
In the final total footing up
Has she paid her honest debts?
In this world of intellect?
What has she contributed to the world
That's above her cash assets?
In the final total footing up
Has she paid her honest debts?
She's brought woman her honor dear
By healing long disgraces;
She's proven to the wrangling world
By filling many places,
That the time has come when woman must
March out and lead the races.
By healing long disgraces;
She's proven to the wrangling world
By filling many places,
That the time has come when woman must
March out and lead the races.
88
She started in her noble work
While John Brown's blood was warm,
While Lincoln's assassination
Was the topic of the throng,
And the Ku Klux Klan was trying to prove
That liberty was wrong.
While John Brown's blood was warm,
While Lincoln's assassination
Was the topic of the throng,
And the Ku Klux Klan was trying to prove
That liberty was wrong.
In the midst of all these conflicts
She planted her little flag
And moved right on in opposition
Of the enemy's sneers and nags,
Till she'd won them over and made them help
To wave that self-same flag.
She planted her little flag
And moved right on in opposition
Of the enemy's sneers and nags,
Till she'd won them over and made them help
To wave that self-same flag.
Three score years of service
Not knowing how to shirk,
Three score years in a steady drive,
And ever on the alert,
Knowing that the night was coming
When no human being could work.
Not knowing how to shirk,
Three score years in a steady drive,
And ever on the alert,
Knowing that the night was coming
When no human being could work.
She has builded human monuments here,
The walls of which will stand
Long after she's departed from
Her dwelling on the land,
Long after buildings have crumbled
That were built upon the sand.
The walls of which will stand
Long after she's departed from
Her dwelling on the land,
Long after buildings have crumbled
That were built upon the sand.
She decided to build for others
Buildings that sheltered her not,
Beneath the roof of the building
She's to have no part or lot,
And some who dwell in the building
Through all time may know her not.
Buildings that sheltered her not,
Beneath the roof of the building
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And some who dwell in the building
Through all time may know her not.
And yet, when the days shall have ended,
And beneath the roof tree's shade,
When the children and the grandchildren
In their childish way have played,
And passed from under the building
And vanished into the shade,
And beneath the roof tree's shade,
When the children and the grandchildren
In their childish way have played,
And passed from under the building
And vanished into the shade,
Some dwellers beneath that roof tree,
Thinking of when it was new,
May say as their thoughts turn backward,
Keeping their ages in view,
The woman who builded these buildings
Builded better than she knew.
Thinking of when it was new,
May say as their thoughts turn backward,
Keeping their ages in view,
The woman who builded these buildings
Builded better than she knew.
And she, after she's passed onward
Hearing the Master's call,
May say, though it may not matter
To her what the buildings befall,
That it's better to build for others
Than to build no buildings at all.
Hearing the Master's call,
May say, though it may not matter
To her what the buildings befall,
That it's better to build for others
Than to build no buildings at all.
That song that has caused countless millions
To turn toward the heavenly throne,
That song that stirred her life blood
And made her heart throbs known,
“Lord, I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching home.”
To turn toward the heavenly throne,
That song that stirred her life blood
And made her heart throbs known,
“Lord, I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching home.”
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Some day, when death steps on the scene
Saying, “You must go under the sod,”
She can smilingly say, “There is no death,
I do not fear your clods,
For during all my life's work
I've been standing on the promise of God.”
Saying, “You must go under the sod,”
She can smilingly say, “There is no death,
I do not fear your clods,
For during all my life's work
I've been standing on the promise of God.”
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“DELINQUENCY”
Home, the sanctuary of life,That stamps impressions for life,
Who is the center of attraction there?
It is the mother, the wife.
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RACIAL FACTS
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And his hellish degradation
Is all we have in history
To match this lynching civilization.
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EVERLASTING FACTS
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Draw a slaughter pen for children,
I'd show to brutal Hitler
How he dump'd them there by the million.
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FILIBUSTERING—
This filibustering nonsenseIn the nation's senate hall
Is simply one more step
To the nation's final fall.
All those unhappy phrases
They should try to set aright
Are dwelt upon with mighty force
To make as dark as night.
A just investigation
To show the brighter side
Is never made by those who strive
Forever to deride.
The Negro's moral standard
Sir, has never been as low
As those destructive lynchers'
Hearts who never strive to know
Whether it was a crime or not.
They're simply satisfied
To pass their own weak judgment,
They crave the Negro's hide.
There's no clan in America
Whose moral pathway's filled
With thorns as is the Negro's
And he must tread at will.
America's Christianity's
Not recognized by Him
Who came to earth to die for man
And give him Christian trim.
Her body's broken by disease,
Her conscience seared with crime;
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To cap the heathen climes.
And in the light of all these things,
It is a poor spirit
To point with Christian horror
But never try to prohibit.
Ah! What a reckless nation,
What an undisciplined child,
Noble, but something tricky,
Doing some things that are wild.
O white man! have you any heart?
And did you ever sigh?
And did your senses ever start
By the Negro's wailing cry?
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AMERICA'S DISGRACE
The southern white man's bugaboo,
“Nigger want to set in his parlor,”
And in his political campaign,
This has been his holler.
“Nigger want to set in his parlor,”
And in his political campaign,
This has been his holler.
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Darn the white man's parlor,
We have parlors of our own,
Bigger, grander, better
Than the white man has ever known.
We have parlors of our own,
Bigger, grander, better
Than the white man has ever known.
We don't want his social mix-up,
We simply want room to stand.
Break down all stumbling blocks,
Give us the rights of man.
We simply want room to stand.
Break down all stumbling blocks,
Give us the rights of man.
White man hoist the window,
White man open the door,
White man give the right of way,
The black man ask no more.
White man open the door,
White man give the right of way,
The black man ask no more.
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THE DEVIL ABDICATED—
I read somewhere in a worn-out bookAbout a traveling rebel
Who went about in every nook
To bring men to his level.
And everything he undertook
Was filled with glee and revel.
His road was filled with snares and crooks,
I think his name was Devil.
He was once cast out of heaven,
Down into the darkest hole,
But the nations longed for him,
Called him back into their fold.
He went into the Garden of Eden,
Despoiled Paradise, you know;
Then started on his mission
With his Devil-face aglow.
He has stalked across the nations,
In every land and sea,
And ever since creation,
He has had his timely plea.
Sometimes nations, sometimes empires
Have been kneeling at his shrine,
But his individual efforts
Are as old and long as time.
Finding America very prosperous
He put whiskey in the land
To wreck our homes, to shorten life,
To kill the spiritual man.
He auctioned off the brightest hopes
Of the nation's young manhood.
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So everything looked good.
The women struggling forty years
Brought temperance to its goal.
Then Satan's agent, with one stroke,
Knocked all their efforts cold.
He made them discard discipline
From our homes, our schools, our churches,
And produced a generation
With its morals all on crutches.
Old Satan, he's just tickled
How he sways the hearts of men,
How he ruled the entire nation
With his wicked, lustful sin.
Having America under good control
With the underworld on top,
He left in search of other fields
To cultivate his crop.
He stepped across the ocean
To see Herr Hitler's doings,
He saw human degradation,
Centuries of civilization ruined,
He saw Finland mutilated
And proud Poland massacred,
The Czechs humiliated,
Norway swallowed—greed!
He saw Belgium torn to pieces,
The Netherlands terrorized,
Poor helpless Spain was ravished,
Women and children crucified.
He saw the handwriting on the wall
Which read to this effect:
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That Hitler must respect.”
He saw gay French society
Busy manicuring their toes
While Hitler was preparing
Proud France to overthrow.
He saw all avenues of science
Once worked for man's welfare,
Have now been concentrated
To bring on this despair.
All the sights that he'd ever seen
Since the dawn of first creation,
Before his mind began to gleam
And cause his soul's stagnation.
The horrors of Siberia
Against the thriving Jew,
Mob violence in China
Dissented from his view.
The blood-chilling horrors of slavery,
The damnable lynching bee
All faded from his memory
At Hitler's massacre.
During all this civil tirade
He slaughtered innocent children,
He butchered helpless women,
Yes, he mowed them down by millions.
The savage of the lowest type
In war, would butcher men,
But never slaughtered children,
He considered that a sin!
The Indian looking for human scalp
Would skin the men alive,
Denied God, disputed the Bible,
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He had some savage pride.
It remained for cruel dictators
Of highly civilized nations
To slaughter women and children,
Thus degrading civilization.
The thoughts of Rome on fire
While Nero played the fiddle
Were very insignificant
To Hitler's wicked riddles.
Hitler—archipelago of Europe,
Dardanelles of civilization.
A rogue of international fame—
Stealing land and mobbing nations—
Runs rampant like a giant brute
In little peaceful lands,
Threatening the very way of life—
Monstrous perversion of man.
He punished the ears for hearing,
Shut mouths and padlocked minds,
Blinded the eyes against the light,
Burned books that right would chime,
Degraded individual human right,
Destroyed all search of truth,
Then built concentration camps
To assassinate our youths!
He auctioned off the brightest hopes
Of all humanity's wooings,
Turned back humanitarian clocks
From upward to downward doings.
He blasphemed all the decencies
Of civilization's ties,
Lied, pillaged, dehumanized.
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And of soul-destroying hatred,
Producer of unspeakable horrors
That cannot be related.
Scientists, artists, men of letters
Beaten to death in the street—
Driven from homes—for what?
Wouldn't worship at Hitler's feet.
Men were dragged to death holes
Known as detention camps—
Shot down by ruthless, brutal beasts
For refusing Hitler's vamp.
Then Satan said, “If Sherman could
Peep back at Hitler's spell,
He'd cry aloud, ‘I've changed my mind,
War's ten times worse than Hell.’”
Then Satan said, with tearful eyes,
“This civilized disgrace
Induces me to abdicate,
Let Hitler take my place—
I'm going back to Hell for peace,
Don't call me back to earth
Till Hitler's brutal force has ceased
And the world has been rebirthed.”
Then Satan said, “I seem to hear
Long distance radio
Pronounce the glad news to the world
That Hitler is no more.
If that is true, I'll change my mind,
What shall I do?—Oh, well,
It's a settled fact, if Hitler's gone,
We both can't live in Hell!
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O MOTHERS!—
Inspired by your daughter's beauty and youth,Surround her with all the fragments of truth,
For we're drawn by those who us surround,
Till little of our native self is found,
And it's from the scenes 'mid which we're placed
That deep affect's on our being traced.
Her character'll be judged by her associates,
With whom she mingles, she'll participate.
Teach her that flesh and a suit of clothes
Looks nice, but it's not the best that grows,
For under that suit can be man or hog
And it's best to consider his dialogue.
And teach her that it's not in a dress parade
That womanhood is at her best displayed.
Teach her that it's not the ballroom sport
Who is the defender of life's stronghold.
They are nice and polite and give a good time,
But to life's deeper meanings they are blind.
They mix with those who are degrading,
And scorn those who are elevating.
Teach her to ponder early and late
Over the human ballroom's fate.
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“THE NEW AMERICA”—
My country 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Would I could sing;
Its land of pilgrim's pride
Also where lynched men died
With such upon her tide
Freedom can't reign.
Sweet land of liberty,
Would I could sing;
Its land of pilgrim's pride
Also where lynched men died
With such upon her tide
Freedom can't reign.
My native country thee,
They would pronounce you free,
Thy name I love;
But when the lynchers rise
To slaughter human lives,
Thou closeth up thine eyes,
Thy God's above.
They would pronounce you free,
Thy name I love;
But when the lynchers rise
To slaughter human lives,
Thou closeth up thine eyes,
Thy God's above.
Let Negroes smell the breeze
So they can sing with ease
Sweet freedom's song;
Let justice reign supreme,
Let me be what they seem,
Break up that lynching screen,
Lay down all wrong.
So they can sing with ease
Sweet freedom's song;
Let justice reign supreme,
Let me be what they seem,
Break up that lynching screen,
Lay down all wrong.
Our Father's God to thee,
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
How can our land be bright,
Can lynching be a light?
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God our King.
Author of liberty,
To Thee we sing.
How can our land be bright,
Can lynching be a light?
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God our King.
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BOULE—
The Boule is not a man-maker,
But is composed of men ready made;
Men, whose reputations
Are true and tried and staid;
Men with taste and character formed,
Beyond the dangerous age.
Men who can breast the fiercest storm
On life's tempestuous stage.
But is composed of men ready made;
Men, whose reputations
Are true and tried and staid;
Men with taste and character formed,
Beyond the dangerous age.
Men who can breast the fiercest storm
On life's tempestuous stage.
The Boule oath connects its men
In strong fraternity,
The civic and political trend
With religious activities.
The social tie predominates
With discipline and education.
Then its advisery and creative,
With directive inspiration.
In strong fraternity,
The civic and political trend
With religious activities.
The social tie predominates
With discipline and education.
Then its advisery and creative,
With directive inspiration.
The Boule makes no outside show
To attract the world at large,
But silent work within its doors
Directs its human barge.
The vicissitudes of a busy life,
Part thought, part work, part play,
Dispels all signs of human strife
And stimulates a real Boule.
To attract the world at large,
But silent work within its doors
Directs its human barge.
The vicissitudes of a busy life,
Part thought, part work, part play,
Dispels all signs of human strife
And stimulates a real Boule.
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