Page:Negro poets and their poems (IA negropoetstheirp00kerl).pdf/120

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Sit here before my grate Until the ash is cold; The things you say of late Are fine as shriven gold.

Even though one be born to sing, if circumstances have made him a preacher he may be expected to moralize his song. Whether we shall be reconciled to this will depend on the art with which it is done. If the moral idea be a sweet human one, and if the verse still be melifluous, we will submit, and our delight will be twofold-ethical and esthetical. We will put our preacher-poet of Missouri to the test:

So much of love I need, And tender passioned care, Of human fault and greed To make me unaware: So much of love I owe, That, ere my life be done, How shall I keep His will To owe not any one?

Truth is, Mr. Johnson is not given to preaching in verse any more than other poets. His sole aim is beauty. He assures me it is truth. Instead of admitting disagreement I only assert that, being a poet, he must find all truth beautiful. It