I look at man in grim dismay;
He tried my virtue all to steal:
My heart is full of joy today,
No sin is on my soul I feel.

The guiling tongue of Adam's son,
Has left me free to see the light
The Master saw o'er Satan won,
In battles they did often fight.

The white man forced my head to bow,
My chastity to treat with scorn;
But I am queen of self, and now
I feel as pure as I was born.

With firm respect I love my race:
No one shall lead me thus astray,
Of kin to lose the ancient trace
That makes me what I am today.

WHEN ITS COURSE WAS CHANGED, AND THE WRITER WAS ABOUT TO LEAVE ITS NEIGHBORHOOD.

Gentle Stream, that from the mountains
Here invokest many a rill,
While two lakes thy channel fill,
Lading from their own sweet fountains
Waters which for thee they hoard,
In softly throbbing pulses poured!
Gentle Stream! I mourn for thee,
And the pleasant liberty
Guiding once thy twinkling feet
Down the vale in measures fleet
And mazy circuits; all is o'er,
Thou must wander forth no more,
Compassing the meadow-lands

I am a little soldier, fighting hard for life,
I came upon the scene of cruel human strife,
My father taught me to be always good and true,
And in the battle ever try to be a blue,
I've met so many hard and awful blows, you know,
But friends, I heard that " we shall reap just what we sow. "
So I shall e'er a Negro man of courage be,
And work with other noble men who'll toil with me.
I promise to engage in what is good and right,
And for the cause of race to make a manly fight;
The world shall be my cautious battle stage,

O! when the Negro makes himself a man,
The wicked world will see a new parade;
The blacks will march in one tremendous clan—
A great phalanx of noble fighting braves.
The day that Africa awakes, in deed,
And black men cease to dream away the time,
The scoffing tribes of other men will heed,
The race's claims of sober righteousness.
It's then for you to think and act to-day,
And show of what good mettle you are made
It's not what other men may do or say,
But just how game you are to win the stake.

I.

Spring ebbed into the lakes and streams,
 Or to the earth's warm heart;
 And stalk and leaf, as with a dart,
Were pierced by winter's backward gleams!
O May! O treacherous May! these months are very dreams.

II.

The clattering winds above me rolled,
 Like chariots in a flight;
 The sky was veined with blue and white,
With here and there some cheerless gold;
The very brightness was no joy, it was so cold.

III.

But ah! with those true southern eyes
 And olive-shaded brow,

There's a dividing line, call it what you may,
It separates the whites from the blacks each day.
Nature made no passing, shadowy blunder
When by race different people set asunder.
You may try to patch a broken fence between,
But one oneness of aim shall e'er be seen;
For peace and happiness, it is the best,
To group them nationally, one from the rest.

Angels are separated by groups and files,
Not because of superiority in lives,
But to maintain heavenly rule and order,
As desired by the Great, Holy Father.

Africa's sun is shining above the horizon clear,
The day for us is rising, for black men far and near;
Our God is in the front line, the heav'nly batallion leads,
Onward, make your banners shine, ye men of noble deeds.
There's a flag we love so well —
The red, the black and green,
Greatest emblem tongues can tell,
The brightest ever seen.

When pandemonium breaks, the earth will tremble fast,
Nor oceans, seas nor lakes shall save the first or last;
Our suff'ring has been long, our cries to God ascending;

Where can I find love that never changes
Smiles that are true and always just the same,
Caring not how the fierce tempest rages,
Willing ever to shield my honored name?

This I find at home, only with Mother,
Who cares for me with patient tenderness;
She from every human pain would rather
Save me, and drink the dregs of bitterness.

If on life's way I happen to flounder,
My true thoughts should be of Mother dear;
She is the rock that ne'er rifts asunder,
The cry of her child, be it far or near.

It seems to me a crying shame
That humorists should all disparage
Those worthy persons whom we claim
As relatives by marriage,
Who have been pilloried so long
In ev'ry so-called " comic " song
That audiences never pause
To think, but greet with loud guffaws
All ribald jokes about " in-laws. "

I always view with deep distress
The rude and vulgar illustrations
In which the minor comic press

H — — e, sweet name! whose princely meaning shows,
From what high spring , your blood's rich current flows,
With needless awe , reminds us of your race ,
Since heav'n has stampt dominion on your face.
Still, in your sov'reign form , distinctly live,
All royal rights, your father kings could give!
In your commanding air , we mark their state ,
And, in your words , their wisdom , and their weight .
Warm, in your noble breast , their courage lies,
And all their pow'r , and mercy , in your eyes .