Page:The book of American negro poetry.djvu/131

Rh Who flung the stars to the most far corner of the night, Who rounded the earth in the middle of His hand; This Great God, Like a mammy bending over her baby. Kneeled down in the dust Toiling over a lump of clay Till He shaped it in His own image;

Then into it He blew the breath of life, And man became a living soul. Amen. Amen.