Page:Darkwater (Du Bois 1920).djvu/68

54 Unthankful we wince in the East,

Unthankful we wail from the westward,

Unthankfully thankful, we curse,

In the unworn wastes of the wild:

I hate them, Oh!

I hate them well,

I hate them, Christ!

As I hate hell!

If I were God,

I'd sound their knell

This day!

Who raised the fools to their glory,

But black men of Egypt and Ind,

Ethiopia's sons of the evening,

Indians and yellow Chinese,

Arabian children of morning,

And mongrels of Rome and Greece?

Ah, well!

And they that raised the boasters

Shall drag them down again,—

Down with the theft of their thieving

And murder and mocking of men;

Down with their barter of women

And laying and lying of creeds;

Down with their cheating of childhood

And drunken orgies of war,—

down

down

deep down,

Till the devil's strength be shorn,

Till some dim, darker David, a-hoeing of his corn,

And married maiden, mother of God,

Bid the black Christ be born!

Then shall our burden be manhood,

Be it yellow or black or white;

And poverty and justice and sorrow,

The humble and simple and strong