Page:Negro poets and their poems (IA negropoetstheirp00kerl).pdf/125

Rh From the cities in the valley, From God’s dwelling on the mountain, Blow your blast that Peace might know She is Queen of God’s great army. With the crying blood of millions We have written deep her name In the Book of all the Ages; With the lilies in the valley, With the roses by the Mersey, With the golden flower of Jersey, We have crowned her smooth young temples. Where her footsteps cease to falter Golden grain will greet the morning, Where her chariot descends Shall be broken down the altar Of the gods of dark disturbance. Nevermore shall men know suffering, Nevermore shall women wailing Shake to grief the God of Heaven. From the East and from the West, From the cities in the valley, From God’s dwelling on the mountain, Little children, blow your trumpets! From Ethiopia, groaning ’neath her heavy burdens I heard the music of the old slave songs. I heard the wail of warriors, dusk brown, who grimly fought the fight of others in the trenches of Mars. I heard the plea of blood-stained men of dusk and the crimson in my veins leapt furiously: Forget not, O my brothers, how we fought In No Man’s Land that peace might come again!