Page:The book of American negro poetry.djvu/143

Rh And yet, my brothers, well I know
 * The tethered feet, the pinioned wings,

The spirit bowed beneath the blow,
 * The heart grown faint from wounds and stings,

The staggering force of brutish might,
 * That strikes and leaves us stunned and dazed;

The long, vain waiting through the night
 * To hear some voice for justice raised.

Full well I know the hour when hope
 * Sinks dead, and 'round us everywhere

Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope
 * With hands uplifted in despair.

Courage! Look out, beyond, and see
 * The far horizon's beckoning span!

Faith in your God-known destiny!
 * We are a part of some great plan.

Because the tongues of Garrison
 * And Phillips now are cold in death,

Think you their work can be undone?
 * Or quenched the fires lit by their breath?

Think you that John Brown's spirit stops?
 * That Lovejoy was but idly slain?

Or do you think those precious drops
 * From Lincoln's heart were shed in vain?

That for which millions prayed and sighed.
 * That for which tens of thousands fought,

For which so many freely died,
 * God cannot let it come to naught.