Classic Poem

When the days were cold and dreary,
And America's future was looking dark,
Her black son marched forth with his gun,
And boldly played his part.

He crossed the mighty ocean,
He feared neither gas nor poisoned dart,
He wrote his name on the scroll of fame,
And like other men played his part.

In every war that this country's been
Blood dripped from the Negro's loyal heart.
At Bunker Hill, Ocean Pond, San Juan and Carrizal
He certainly played his part.

Not only is he a fighter,
He has a place in poetry, music and art,
Dunbar, Johnson and Tanner have proven
That the Negro has played his part.

Then he yearned for education
Of hand and head and heart,
Mary Bethune and Booker Washington tell us
That in literature he plays his part.

Today finds him progressive,
No more content with that ox cart,
He motors his car to his store or bank
And in commerce plays his part.

America, dear America,
Mother of all Americans thou art,
You need not grieve, your black boy won't leave,
He's going to stay and continue to do his part.