The Book of American Negro Poetry Part 15

For the st.u.r.dy oaks and the stately pines, For the lead and the coal from the deep, dark mines, For the silver ores of a thousand fold, For the diamond bright and the yellow gold, For the river boat and the flying train, For the fleecy sail of the rolling main, For the velvet sponge and the glossy pearl, For the flag of peace which we now unfurl,-- From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,-- Lord G.o.d of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the lowly cot and the mansion fair, For the peace and plenty together share, For the Hand which guides us from above, For Thy tender mercies, abiding love, For the blessed home with its children gay, For returnings of Thanksgiving Day, For the bearing toils and the sharing cares, We lift up our hearts in our songs and our prayers,-- From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,-- Lord G.o.d of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

Ray G. Dandridge

TIME TO DIE

Black brother, think you life so sweet That you would live at any price?

Does mere existence balance with The weight of your great sacrifice?

Or can it be you fear the grave Enough to live and die a slave?

O Brother! be it better said, When you are gone and tears are shed, That your death was the stepping stone Your children's children cross'd upon.

Men have died that men might live: Look every foeman in the eye!

If necessary, your life give For something, ere in vain you die.

'ITTLE TOUZLE HEAD

(_To R. V.P._)

c.u.m, listen w'ile yore Unkel sings Erbout how low sweet chariot swings, Truint Angel, wifout wings, Mah 'ittle Touzle Head.

Stop! Stop! How dare you laff et me, Bekaze I foul de time an' key, Thinks you dat I is Black Pattie, Mah 'ittle Touzle Head?

O, Honey Lam'! dem sparklin' eyes, Dat offen laffs an' selem cries, Is sho a G.o.d gib natchel prize, Mah 'ittle Touzle Head.

An' doze wee ban's so sof an' sweet, Mates wid dem toddlin', velvet feet, Jes to roun' you out, complete, Mah 'ittle Touzle Head.

Sma't! youse sma't ez sma't kin be, Knows yore evah A, B, C, Plum on down to X, Y, Z, Mah 'ittle Touzle Head.

De man doan know how much he miss, Ef he ain't got no niece lak dis; Fro yore Unkel one mo' kiss, Mah 'ittle Touzle Head!

I wist sum magic w'u'd ellow, (By charm or craf'--doan mattah how) You stay jes lak you is right now, Mah 'ittle Touzle Head.

ZALKA PEETRUZA

(_Who Was Christened Lucy Jane_)

She danced, near nude, to tom-tom beat, With swaying arms and flying feet, 'Mid swirling spangles, gauze and lace, Her all was dancing--save her face.

A conscience, dumb to brooding fears, Companioned hearing deaf to cheers; A body, marshalled by the will, Kept dancing while a heart stood still:

And eyes obsessed with vacant stare, Looked over heads to empty air, As though they sought to find therein Redemption for a maiden sin.

'Twas thus, amid force driven grace, We found the lost look on her face; And then, to us, did it occur That, though we saw--we saw not her.

SPRIN' FEVAH

Dar's a lazy, sortah hazy Feelin' grips me, thoo an' thoo; An' I feels lak doin' less dan enythin'; Dough de saw is sharp an' greasy, Dough de task et han' is easy, An' de day am fair an' breezy, Dar's a thief dat steals embition in de win'.

Kaint defy it, kaint deny it, Kaze it jes won't be denied; Its a mos' pursistin' stubbern sortah thin'; Anti Tox' doan neutrolize it; Doctahs fail to a.n.a.lyze it; So I yiel's (dough I despise it) To dat res'less, wretchit fevah evah Sprin'.

DE DRUM MAJAH

He's struttin' sho ernuff, Wearin' a lady's m.u.f.f En' ways erpon his head, Red coat ob reddest red, Purtty white satin ves', Gole braid ercross de ches'; Goo'ness! he cuts a stunt, Prancin' out dar in frunt, Leadin' his ban'.

Wen dat ah whistle blows, Each man behine him knows 'Zacklee whut he mus' do; You bet! he dues it, too.

W'en dat bra.s.s stick he twirls, Ole maids an' lub-sick gurls Looks on wid longin' eyes, Dey simpley idolize Dat han'sum man.

Sweet fife an' piccalo, Bofe warblin' sof an' lo'

Slide ho'n an' saxophones, Jazz syncopated tones, Snare drum an' lead cornet, Alto an' clarinet, Las', but not least, dar c.u.m Cymbals an' big ba.s.s drum-- O! whut a ban'!

Cose, we all undahstan'

Each piece he'ps maik de ban', But dey all mus' be led, Sum one mus' be de head: No doubt, de centipede Has all de laigs he need, But take erway de head, Po' centipede am dead; So am de ban'.

Fenton Johnson

CHILDREN OF THE SUN

We are children of the sun, Rising sun!

Weaving Southern destiny, Waiting for the mighty hour When our s.h.i.+loh shall appear With the flaming sword of right, With the steel of brotherhood, And emboss in crimson die Liberty! Fraternity!

We are the star-dust folk, Striving folk!

Sorrow songs have lulled to rest; Seething pa.s.sions wrought through wrongs, Led us where the moon rays dip In the night of dull despair, Showed us where the star gleams s.h.i.+ne, And the mystic symbols glow-- Liberty! Fraternity!

We have come through cloud and mist, Mighty men!

Dusk has kissed our sleep-born eyes, Reared for us a mystic throne In the splendor of the skies, That shall always be for us, Children of the Nazarene, Children who shall ever sing Liberty! Fraternity!

THE NEW DAY

From a vision red with war I awoke and saw the Prince of Peace hovering over No Man's Land.

Loud the whistles blew and the thunder of cannon was drowned by the happy shouting of the people.

From the Sinai that faces Armageddon I heard this chant from the throats of white-robed angels:

Blow your trumpets, little children!

From the East and from the West, From the cities in the valley, From G.o.d's dwelling on the mountain, Blow your blast that Peace might know She is Queen of G.o.d's great army.

With the crying blood of millions We have written deep her name In the Book of all the Ages; With the lilies in the valley, With the roses by the Mersey, With the golden flower of Jersey We have crowned her smooth young temples.

Where her footsteps cease to falter Golden grain will greet the morning, Where her chariot descends Shall be broken down the altars Of the G.o.ds of dark disturbance.