Page:Negro poets and their poems (IA negropoetstheirp00kerl).pdf/72

50 of America I permit to close this summary review of earlier Negro poetry:

Still comes the Perfect Thing to man As came the olden gods, in dreams; And then the man—made artist—knows How real is the thing which seems. Then, tongue or brush or magic pen May win the world to loud acclaim, But he who wrought knows in his soul That, like as tinsel is to gold, His work is, to his aim. It’s there ahead to him—and you And me. I swear it isn’t far; Else, black Despair would cut us down In the land of hateful Things Which Are. But, just beyond our finger-tips, Things As They Should Be shame the weak, And hold the aching muscles tense Through th’ next moment of suspense Which triumph is to break. And shall we strive? The years to come, Till sunset of eternity, Are given to the fairest god, The God of Things As They Should Be. The ending? Nay, ’tis ours to do And dare and bear and not to flinch; To enter where is no retreat; To win one stride from sheer defeat; To die—but gain an inch.