Page:The book of American negro poetry.djvu/240

188 Who makes our cause and wrong The motif of his song; Who sings our racial good, Bestows us honor's place, The cosmic brotherhood Of genius—not of race.

Blind Homer, Greek or Jew, Of fame's immortal few Would still be deathless born; Frail Dunbar, black or white, In Fame's eternal light, Would shine a Star of Morn.

An unhorizoned range. Our hour of doubt and change, Gives song a nightless day, Whose pen with pregnant mirth Will give our longings birth, And point our souls the way?