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7
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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