Page:The complete poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar.pdf/53

 We kin hyeah his feet a-trompin',
 * We kin hyeah his trumpit blas'.

But I want to wa'n you people,
 * Don't you git too brigity;

An' don't you git to braggin'
 * 'Bout dese things, you wait an' see.

But when Moses wif his powah
 * Comes an' sets us chillun free,

We will praise de gracious Mastah
 * Dat has gin us liberty;

An' we'll shout ouah halleluyahs,
 * On dat mighty reck'nin' day,

When we'se reco'nised ez citiz'—
 * Huh uh! Chillun, let us pray!

! to thee I bring This pledge of faith unwavering,
 * This tribute to thy glory.

I know the pangs which thou didst feel, When Slavery crushed thee with its heel,
 * With thy dear blood all gory.

Sad days were those—ah, sad indeed! But through the land the fruitful seed
 * Of better times was growing.

The plant of freedom upward sprung, And spread its leaves so fresh and young—
 * Its blossoms now are blowing.

On every hand in this fair land, Proud Ethiope's swarthy children stand
 * Beside their fairer neighbor;

The forests flee before their stroke, Their hammers ring, their forges smoke,—
 * They stir in honest labour.

They tread the fields honour calls; Their voices sound through senate halls
 * In majesty and power.

To right they cling; the hymns they sing Up to the skies in beauty ring,
 * And bolder grow each hour.

Be proud, my Race, in mind and soul; Thy name is writ on Glory's scroll
 * In characters of fire.

High 'mid the clouds of Fame's bright sky Thy banner's blazoned folds now fly,
 * And truth shall lift them higher.

Thou hast the right to noble pride, Whose spotless robes were purified
 * By blood's severe baptism.

Upon thy brow the cross was laid,