#AmericanWriters
I NEVER shall furgit that night… An’ all us youngsters clambered in… To school where we was kep’ at wor… But where that night a spellin’—be… 'Twas one o’ Heaven’s banner nigh…
I KNOW my love is true, And oh the day is fair. The sky is dear and blue, The flowers are rich of hue, The air I breathe is rare,
MAMMY’S in de kitchen, an’ de d… All de pickaninnies climb an’ tug… Gittin’ to de winder, stickin’ dah… Evah one ermong us des all nose an… 'Whut’s she cookin’, Isaac?' 'Whu…
I don’t believe in 'ristercrats An’ never did, you see; The plain ol’ homelike sorter folk… Is good enough fur me. O’ course, I don’t desire a man
Just whistle a bit, if the day be… And the sky be overcast: If mute be the voice of the piping… Why, pipe your own small blast. And it’s wonderful how o’er the gr…
When to sweet music my lady is dan… My heart to mild frenzy her beauty… Into my face are her brown eyes a—… And swift my whole frame thrills w… Dance, lady, dance, for the moment…
Let those who will stride on their… And prick themselves to haste with… Unheeding, as they struggle day by… If flowers be sweet or skies be bl… For me, the lone, cool way by purl…
GOD has his plans, and what if we With our sight be too blind to see Their full fruition; cannot he, Who made it, solve the mystery? One whom we loved has fall’n aslee…
This is to—day, a golden summer’s… And yet—and yet My vengeful soul will not forget The past, forever now forgot, you… From that half height where I had…
Back to the breast of thy mother, Child of the earth! E’en her caress can not smother What thou hast done. Follow the trail of the westering…
In Life’s Red Sea with faith I p… And wait the sound of that sustain… Which long ago the men of Israel… When Pharaoh’s host behind them,… Raged on, consuming with revengefu…
De da’kest hour, dey allus say, Is des’ befo’ de dawn, But it’s moughty ha’d a—waitin’ W’ere de night goes frownin’ on; An’ it’s moughty ha’d a—hopin’
In the heavy earth the miner Toiled and laboured day by day, Wrenching from the miser mountain Brilliant treasure where it lay. And the artist worn and weary
BREEZES blowin’ middlin’ brisk, Snow-flakes thro’ the air a-whisk, Fallin’ kind o’ soft an’ light, Not enough to make things white, But jest sorter siftin’ down
Oh, awful Power whose works repel The marvel of the earth’s designs,… I 'll hie me otherwhere to dwell, Arcadia has trolley lines.