#Americans
Brother, come! And let us go unto our God. And when we stand before Him I shall say— “Lord, I do not hate,
Were you to come, With your clear, gray eyes As calmly placid as, in summer’s h… At noontide lie the sultry skies; With your dark, brown hair
Why do men smile when I speak, And call my speech The whimperings of a babe That cries but knows not what it w… Is it because I am black?
Never again the sight of her? Never her winsome smile Shall light the path of my journey… O’er many a weary mile? Never again shall her soft voice c…
Out of the silence I come to you, Bringing a love Free as the dew. I come and sing
The band of Gideon roam the sky, The howling wind is their war-cry, The thunder roll is their trump’s… And the lightning flash their veng… Each black cloud
Day passeth day in sunshine or sha… Night unto night each cycle is tol… Sun, moon and stars in whirling an… All unto all the creation unfold. What of the strivings, what of the…
Old Moloch walks the way tonight On Flander’s poppied field, Where foe meets foe in steel and m… And never one shall yield. Old Moloch of the fiery shrine,
Sunless days and starless nights Bearing fruits of wrack and pain, Purge my lips of lover’s vows, Bid me never hope again. Yet the longing of my soul,
O why are there eyes like these, That sparkle and dapple and tease, So wide with the morning, so deep… Dancing and gleaming in passioned… O why are there eyes like these?
As I lie in bed, Flat on my back; There passes across my ceiling An endless panaroma of things— Quick steps of gay-voiced children…
Love is the soothing voice of gods To which men ever list. Love is the ease of soul’s travail And sorrow’s alchemist.
They shall go down unto Life’s Bo… Walk unafraid within that Living… Nor heed the driving rain of shot… That 'round them falls; but with u… Be one with mighty hosts, an arméd…
The little child crosses the stree… Why does she wave to me? What sees she in my wasted form To hail so joyously? Her olive face and curly hair
Old November, sere and brown, Clothes the country, haunts the to… Sheds its cloak of withered leaves… Brings its sighing, soughing breez… Prophet of the dying year,