The Book of American Negro Poetry Part 13

To where a naked, shivering score, s.n.a.t.c.hed from their haunts across the seas, Stood, wild-eyed, on Virginia's sh.o.r.e.

This land is ours by right of birth, This land is ours by right of toil; We helped to turn its virgin earth, Our sweat is in its fruitful soil.

Where once the tangled forest stood,-- Where flourished once rank weed and thorn,-- Behold the path-traced, peaceful wood, The cotton white, the yellow corn.

To gain these fruits that have been earned, To hold these fields that have been won, Our arms have strained, our backs have burned, Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun.

That Banner which is now the type Of victory on field and flood-- Remember, its first crimson stripe Was dyed by Attucks' willing blood.

And never yet has come the cry-- When that fair flag has been a.s.sailed-- For men to do, for men to die, That we have faltered or have failed.

We've helped to bear it, rent and torn, Through many a hot-breath'd battle breeze Held in our hands, it has been borne And planted far across the seas.

And never yet,--O haughty Land, Let us, at least, for this be praised-- Has one black, treason-guided hand Ever against that flag been raised.

Then should we speak but servile words, Or shall we hang our heads in shame?

Stand back of new-come foreign hordes, And fear our heritage to claim?

No! stand erect and without fear, And for our foes let this suffice-- We've bought a rightful sonship here, And we have more than paid the price.

And yet, my brothers, well I know The tethered feet, the pinioned wings, The spirit bowed beneath the blow, The heart grown faint from wounds and stings;

The staggering force of brutish might, That strikes and leaves us stunned and dazed; The long, vain waiting through the night To hear some voice for justice raised.

Full well I know the hour when hope Sinks dead, and 'round us everywhere Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope With hands uplifted in despair.

Courage! Look out, beyond, and see The far horizon's beckoning span!

Faith in your G.o.d-known destiny!

We are a part of some great plan.

Because the tongues of Garrison And Phillips now are cold in death, Think you their work can be undone?

Or quenched the fires lit by their breath?

Think you that John Brown's spirit stops?

That Lovejoy was but idly slain?

Or do you think those precious drops From Lincoln's heart were shed in vain?

That for which millions prayed and sighed, That for which tens of thousands fought, For which so many freely died, G.o.d cannot let it come to naught.

John Wesley Holloway

MISS MELERLEE

h.e.l.lo dar, Miss Melerlee!

Oh, you're pretty sight to see!

Sof brown cheek, an' smilin' face, An' willowy form chuck full o' grace-- De sweetes' gal Ah evah see, An' Ah wush dat you would marry me!

h.e.l.lo, Miss Melerlee!

h.e.l.lo dar, Miss Melerlee!

You're de berry gal fo' me!

Pearly teef, an' shinin' hair, An' silky arm so plump an' bare!

Ah lak yo' walk, Ah lak yo' clothes, An' de way Ah love you,--goodness knows!

h.e.l.lo, Miss Melerlee!

h.e.l.lo dar, Miss Melerlee!

Dat's not yo' name, but it ought to be!

Ah nevah seed yo' face befo'

An' lakly won't again no mo'; But yo' sweet smile will follow me Cla'r into eternity!

Farewell, Miss Melerlee!

CALLING THE DOCTOR

Ah'm sick, doctor-man, Ah'm sick!

Gi' me some'n' to he'p me quick, Don't,--Ah'll die!

Tried mighty hard fo' to cure mahse'f; Tried all dem t'ings on de pantry she'f; Couldn' fin' not'in' a-tall would do, An' so Ah sent fo' you.

"Wha'd Ah take?" Well, le' me see: Firs',--horhound drops an' catnip tea; Den rock candy soaked in rum, An' a good sized chunk o' camphor gum; Next Ah tried was castor oil, An' snakeroot tea brought to a boil; Sa.s.safras tea fo' to clean mah blood; But none o' dem t'ings didn' do no good.

Den when home remedies seem to shirk, Dem pantry bottles was put to work:

Blue-ma.s.s, laud'num, liver pills, "Sixty-six, fo' fever an' chills,"

Ready Relief, an' A.B.C., An' half a bottle of X.Y.Z.

An' sev'al mo' Ah don't recall, Dey nevah done no good at all.

Mah appet.i.te begun to fail; 'Ah fo'ced some clabber, about a pail, Fo' mah ol' gran'ma always said When yo' can't eat you're almost dead.

So Ah got scared an' sent for you.-- Now, doctor, see what you c'n do.

Ah'm sick, doctor-man. Gawd knows Ah'm sick!

Gi' me some'n' to he'p me quick, Don't,--Ah'll die!

THE CORN SONG

Jes' beyan a clump o' pines,-- Lis'n to 'im now!-- Hyah de jolly black boy, Singin', at his plow!

In de early mornin', Thoo de hazy air, Loud an' clear, sweet an' strong Comes de music rare:

"O mah dovee, Who-ah!

Do you love me? Who-ah!

Who-ah!"

An' as 'e tu'ns de cotton row, Hyah 'im tell 'is ol' mule so; "Whoa! Har! Come'ere!"

Don't yo' love a co'n song?

How it stirs yo' blood!

Ever'body list'nin', In de neighborhood!