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252 While its primal measures drip Through my body, crying, "Strip! Doff this new exuberance, Come and dance the Lover's Dance." In an old remembered way Rain works on me night and day. Though three centuries removed From the scenes my fathers loved.

My conversion came high-priced. I belong to Jesus Christ, Preacher of humility: Heathen gods are naught to me Quaint, outlandish heathen gods Black men fashion out of rods, Clay and brittle bits of stone, In a likeness like their own.

"Father, Son and Holy Ghost" Do I make an idle boast, Jesus of the twice turned cheek, Lamb of God, although I speak With my mouth thus, in my heart Do I not play a double part? Ever at thy glowing altar Must my sick and falter Wishing He I served were black. Thinking then it would not lack Precedent of pain to guide it Let who would or might deride it; Surely then this flesh would know Yours had borne a kindred woe. Lord, I fashion dark gods, too, Daring even to give to You Dark, despairing features where Crowned with dark rebellious hair, Patience wavers just so much as Mortal grief compels, while touches