Memories of Childhood's Slavery Days Part 4

"Suppose," said Mr. Carnegie, "Great Britain were to send her war fleets to America. It would amount to nothing. All that the President of the United States would have to do would be to say, 'Stop exporting cotton.' The war would be ended in four days, for England cannot do without our cotton.

"We don't need a navy; we are impregnable. Because we have 9,000,000 colored men anxious and willing to work we hold this strong position, and I am interested in the negro from this material standpoint, as well as from the more humane point of view."

MY FAVORITE POEMS

Verses

On a green slope, most fragrant with the Spring, One sweet, fair day I planted a red rose, That grew, beneath my tender nouris.h.i.+ng, So tall, so riotous of bloom, that those Who pa.s.sed the little valley where it grew Smiled at its beauty. All the air was sweet About it! Still I tended it, and knew That he would come, e'en as it grew complete.

And a day brought him! Up I led him, where In the warm sun my rose bloomed gloriously-- Smiling and saying, Lo, is it not fair?

And all for thee--all thine! But he pa.s.sed by Coldly, and answered, Rose? I see no rose,-- Leaving me standing in the barren vale Alone! alone! feeling the darkness close Deep o'er my heart, and all my being fail.

Then came one, gently, yet with eager tread, Begging one rose-bud--but my rose was dead.

Verses

The old, old Wind that whispers to old trees, Round the dark country when the sun has set, Goes murmuring still of unremembered seas And cities of the dead that men forget-- An old blind beggar-man, distained and gray, With ancient tales to tell, Mumbling of this and that upon his way, Strange song and muttered spell-- Neither to East or West, or South or North, His habitation lies, This roofless vagabond who wanders forth Aye under alien skies-- A gypsy of the air, he comes and goes Between the tall trees and the shadowed gra.s.s, And what he tells only the twilight knows ...

The tall trees and the twilight hear him pa.s.s.

To him the Dead stretch forth their strengthless hands, He who campaigns in other climes than this, He who is free of the Unshapen Lands, The empty homes of Dis.

Verses

Out of the scattered fragments Of castles I built in the air I gathered enough together To fas.h.i.+on a cottage with care; Thoughtfully, slowly, I planned it, And little by little it grew-- Perfect in form and in substance, Because I designed it for you.

The castles that time has shattered Gleamed spotless and pearly white As they stood in the misty distance That borders the Land of Delight; Sleeping and waking I saw them Grow brighter and fairer each day; But, alas! at the touch of a finger They trembled and crumbled away!

Then out of the dust I gathered A bit of untarnished gold, And a gem unharmed by contact With stones of a baser mold; For sometimes a priceless jewel Gleams wondrously pure and fair From glittering paste foundations Of castles we see in the air.

So, I turned from the realms of fancy, As remote as the stars above, And into the land of the living I carried the jewel of love; The mansions of dazzling brightness Have crumbled away, it is true; But firm upon gold foundations Stands the cottage I built for you!

Verses

You do but jest, sir, and you jest not well.

How could the hand be enemy of the arm, Or seed and sod be rivals? How could light Feel jealousy of heat, plant of the leaf, Or compet.i.tion dwell 'twixt lip and smile?

Are we not part and parcel of yourselves?

Like strands in one great braid we intertwine And make the perfect whole. You could not be Unless we gave you birth: we are the soil From which you sprang, yet sterile were that soil Save as you planted. (Though in the Book we read One woman bore a child with no man's aid, We find no record of a man-child born Without the aid of woman! Fatherhood Is but a small achievement at the best, While motherhood is heaven and h.e.l.l.) This ever-growing argument of s.e.x Is most unseemly, and devoid of sense.

Why waste more time in controversy, when There is not time enough for all of love, Our rightful occupation in this life?

Why prate of our defects--of where we fail, When just the story of our worth would need Eternity for telling; and our best Development comes ever through your praise, As through our praise you reach your highest self?

Oh! had you not been miser of your praise And let our virtues be their own reward, The old established order of the world Would never have been changed. Small blame is ours For this uns.e.xing of ourselves, and worse Effeminizing of the male. We were Content, sir, till you starved us, heart and brain.

All we have done, or wise or otherwise, Traced to the root, was done for love of you.

Let us taboo all vain comparisons, And go forth as G.o.d meant us, hand in hand, Companions, mates and comrades evermore; Two parts of one divinely ordained whole.

Verses

A widow had two sons, And one knelt at her knees, And sought to give her joy And toiled to give her ease; He heard his country's call And longed to go, to die If G.o.d so willed, but saw Her tears and heard her sigh.

A widow had two sons, One filled her days with care And creased her brow and brought Her many a whitened hair His country called--he went.

Nor thought to say good-by, And recklessly he fought, And died as heroes die.

A widow had two sons, One fell as heroes fall, And one remained and toiled, And gave to her his all.

She watched "her hero's" grave In dismal days and fair, And told the world her love, Her heart was buried there.

Our Mission

In the legends of the Nors.e.m.e.n, Stories quaint and weird and wild, There's a strange and thrilling story, Of a mother and her child.

And that child, so runs the story, In those quaint old Nors.e.m.e.n books, Fell one day from dangerous play ground, Dashed in pieces on the rocks; But with gentle hand that mother Gathered every tender part, Bore them gently, torn and bleeding, On her loving mother heart.

And within her humble dwelling, Strong in faith and brave of soul, With her love-song low and tender Rocked and sang the fragments whole.

Such the mission of the Christian, Taught by Christ so long ago; This the mark that bids us stay not, This the spirit each should know: Rent and torn by sin the race is, Heart from heart, and soul from soul; This our task with Christ's sweet love-song, Join, and heal, and make them whole.

--_Rev. E. M. Bartlett_

Verses

Lord over all! Whose power the sceptre swayed, Ere first Creation's wondrous form was framed, When by His will Divine all things were made; Then, King, Almighty was His name proclaimed.

When all shall cease--the universe be o'er, In awful greatness He alone will reign, Who was, Who is, and Who will evermore In glory most refulgent still remain.

Sole G.o.d! unequalled and beyond compare, Without division or a.s.sociate; Without commencing date, or final year, Omnipotent He reigns in awful state.

He is my G.o.d! my living Savior He!

My sheltering Rock in sad misfortune's hour!

My standard, refuge, portion, still shall be, My lot's disposer when I seek His power.

Into His hands my spirit I consign Whilst wrapped in sleep, that I again may wake, And with my soul, my body I resign; The Lord's with me--no fears my soul can shake.

THE CREATION

BY

ANNIE L. BURTON

The earth, the firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, Were made by G.o.d's creative power Six thousand years ago or more.

Man, too, was formed to till the ground; Birds, beasts, and fish to move around; The fish to swim, the birds to fly, And all to praise the Love most high.

This world is round, wise men declare, And hung on nothing in the air.

The moon around the earth doth run; The earth moves on its center, too; The earth and moon around the sun As wheels and tops and pulleys do.

Water and land make up the whole, From East to West, from pole to pole.