Book_JliiJLL_ n)4 !0 GojpglitN" COPYRIGHT DEPOSm WELLINGTON ADAAS iprics of gin ^nmbU 5Birt|) BY WELLINGTON ADAMS Murray Bros, printing Co. Washington. D. C. 1914 T5 3JTI ]^\^ Copyrig-hted, 1914, by \Velling-ton Adams 1200 U Street, Northwest Washington, D. C. MAR K !9!4 .ioO ©CI.A868837 CONTENTS ^ Frontice — The Author Page 1 Preface by the Author . 5 PART I. A IvETTAH TO DE PrESADANT * 7 Ir'nin' Hez Shurt . . • , 3 9 A Child's Prayer 10 Why Weepest Thou, My Love? ' ^ ■ 12 De Mekin's OB a Man . .... • 12 Mother 14 Hi! You Little "Devil" Hi!' ' «. ■ ^ 16 Thou Queen o' the Western Sea 18 Apprehension ' .' . . . . ^ 20 Aftah de Bat'le . . ... . 20 Th' Passing of 'Old Aunt^Maria' 22 Eatin's 24 Where is God? 25 Let us hab Peace! . . . . 26 SCRIBT TAH MiSTAH SmAL' WoOD . 28 Dem dah 'Tru' Refomahs' 29 POLAHTICKS ...... 31 Why IS Whiskey such a Curse? 33 PART II. Scripts 37 SwEKTHEART Mine . . . .38 *In thk City of Jasper Walls . . 41 Mammy Lov's Her Kinky-headed Boy . 43 There'll Come a dark Cloud Sometime 44 f^oNELY Night 45 *After a While . . . . .47 , J'retty Moon 39 Mah Sw*et Li'l' Chile .... 46 *Song' Poems have been published, and raay be had by addressing" the Author. PREFACE. lilS little volume of poems, which we have so earnestly labored .to Jj produce, is but the weak effort ol an humble soul, reaching out be- yond the piercing gloom and pene- trating darkness; which it seems, has filled a large part of our life. Regardless of tKe many difficulties encumbered, however, the inner-man still yearns for a larger usefulness to his race particu- larly and mankind in general. All that 1 am and ever shall be, possibly, is due to the faithful and assidious training of my dead mother (bless her memory) and a devoted lather; besides the encouragement given jme by my loving sister and devoted brothers. The author lays no claim to literary merit in this work; for indeed, there may be numerous defects in the composition, poetical metre and rythm, that none but a critical mind and eye may discern and observe, and as to its intrinsic value it is for you to decide, dear reader. I am willing however, to launch my little **bark" upon the ** Literary sea, to sinker swira, survive or perish," as the case may be. I beg further to thank a few friends for their kind advice and helpfulness in the preparation of this work- Most respectfully yours, Washington, D. C. W. A. February, 1914 DEDICATED TO MY BELOVED PARENTS. Lyrics of An Humble Birth PART I. A LETTAH TO DE PRESADANT. Was'nton, Fust-twintee-thurd, 14. Mistah Wilson, sah, mah Pres'dant, Ah thought'd write yo' a line; To chur yo' up a bit, but whant Distub yah othah time. Ahm glad yo' had a dandie trip, To dat 'Pas' Khris'un' town; An' dat yo' got rid ob de 'grip' Yo' carrud fr'm dese groun's. Ahm glad, sah, yo' didn't ke'p rite on Ez stardid, on dat 'ship' ; Fah feah ob dem dah 'Mexahcons', Mought git yo' on de 'slip'. Dem countra folks, sah, sho' lak yo', Doan dey? — 'n' ahm so glad; Ah re'd, how dey kep' on de go To find yo' an' yah 'Cad'. Ah hope de 'Mistriss ob de Ian' — Ah'll add (yo' dautahs) too; *N'jord demselv's ez bes' dey kan, Wile dey wtiz thah wid yo'. Ahm glad to see 'Mah Presadant', Bac' hyeah 'n' dis ol' town ; So biz'ness' kan go on, Gawd grant, An' ke'p dat 'Congrist' down. Gib mah respechts to awl de boys — 'Tom'ltee', an' de res'; Whahs wurkin' thah fah yo' an' 'joys De t'ings dat am de bes'. Now, ah mus' clos' dis lettah now, Mah wurks be'n hard today; Ah'll send dis writin' anyhow — 'Boiit awl ah got to say. To de Tresadant' W'ite 'ouse. Yoahs trulay, Tap' D. C. IR'NIN' HEZ SHURT. ^'Yo' Sally !-er-r--Sal-ly !, Com' hyeah gal, an' hurry be ; Um gwine t' git yo', sho' ez day, Ez yo' doan com' rite away : Go 'n' git yah Daddy's shurt; Doan yo' kno' hez com' fr'm wurk, An' tah chu'ch has gottah go? 'Usht up gal — doan sa' no mo' !" The lit'le girl then got the "shurt", With her feelings awf'ly hurt'd ; "Ir'nd" away with all her might. For her "mammy" on that night. "Air yo' ir'nin' dat shurt, gal?" Yell'd the mother wild, to "Sal" ; "Yas'uni!" answer'd her, the while, Trembling like a sinner vile. "Com' ole mawn, yo' suppahs' don';' "Wal," said he, "ahm comin' hon' ;' And the couple soon sat down At the table, they were found. "Lawd," said he, " 'ave mussy now, Bles' dem tatoes, meat 'n' 'chow'; Ar-min !"— and he fiU'd his plate. As of ev'rything he ate. Moved his chair, as he made haste — Not a minute did he waste; Dressing hurried — got his tie, As the ''shurt" his wife did spy — "Sal-ly ! brin' dat shurt on hyeah ! Whut yo' sa'? — Bettah keah ! Hawn hit hyeah ! — 'Mah' ! — luks reel w'ite Ole mawn, yo'll sho' luk out o' sight !" *'De ole mawn" took his '*shurt" 'n' smiled, Ez put'in' on, she stood and eyed : "Lawd ! Swsan, dis shurt ahm hot, Bu'ns me 'n' ah dunno whot !" "Gwane," said she, " 'n' be a mawn. Putt hit on. Si, ef yo' khan ; Ef ah had'n' hurrud so, Yo'd had non' fah chu'ch tah go." A CHILD'S PRAYER. Kneeling beside a little bed so white, Clad in garments so simple and light ; Praying to God as the shadows depart, A lit'le child with a sorrowful heart. Hands clasp'd together and heart full of love, Eyes lifting up towards heav'n above ; Alone in this world of sorrow and fear; Alone from mother's kindness and cheer. "Oh! God! is my mother up there with you? Let her sweet face shine out thro' skies o' blue ; Pray, let her come back to me for "My Care" I Would you, dear Lord? Oh, please hear my prayer." "I'd like to climb up them bright golden stairs, To see if my mamma's now o'er there ; Grandma, she tells me, each day after day, That I'll see mamma, if I would pray." "I have little dollies, toys — everything!" Cried the poor darling child to her "King"; As wafting upward those sweet words of love, To the "Kingdom of Mercy" above. "I try to be true, so good and so kind. And my gradma, each day, I will mind ; Keep us now, dear Jesus, each day by day ; Amen. Good-night grandma," she would say. II WHY WEEPEST THOU, MY LOVE? The breaking waters of the deep As onward rushing, blindly sweep O'er distance madly; seems to speak To me, as though I came to seek Its passion and its fury; streak'd With fierce and roaring tortures steep ! And calming, while the eve'ning creeps, Nor yet the rust'ling waters sleep. I standeth, as enchanted, still Bewilder'd, lo, in mind and will ; To speak? ''Nay ! Nay !" bid'st thou the heart As wounded by Dan Cupid's dart : ("He loves me?— 'Yes;' he loves me?— 'Not!'") Re-echoed 'round that lonely spot ; When, out o' the depths rang out above The mist "Why weepest thou, my love?" DE MEKIN'S OB A MAN. Jake, yo' ax' me whut de mekin's Ob a man 'n' dis hyeah day? Ah'll tell yo' q'ickly whut ah t'inks : Hard wurk 'n' not no play ! 12 Yo' ax' me den why, ef dey wurks, Dey nebber hab no eese; Bekaze, ah t'inks, dey awlus shurks, 'N' shurking wurk, doan pleese. Mah bruddah, deirs no ust tah kic', Fah kic'in' is'nt game; De woild am made ob dem who stic's An' wurks on jist de same. Dis am de age ob really men. Who ob dah knol'edge gibs ; De bes' dat 'n' dem is, w'ich sends De woild 'roun' ez hit libs. De man who awlus dreemin' is, An' nebber seems tah t'ink; He soon will drap out ob de *biz', An den fawl o'er de brink. De woild, hit calls fah men ob strin'th, Who acht upon de sq'are; An' men ob currage who won't s'rink Fr'm duty, 'n' who'll dare. Men mus' hab nerb ef dey mus' face Hard tri'ls, an' not swerb One inch fr'm whah dah ac'ions' base; E'vn dough de way am cur'b. 13 Dese t'ings, ahve sed, dey hab som' waight, Ah hope yo' undahstan' ; Awl dat ahve sed is sho'ly, Jake, De mekin's of a man. MOTHER. Tho' human as thou wert, still in thine image I behold Sweet visions of an lov'lier one than earth af- fords ; who, bold, Did fight for right with ev'ry might and with all done, gone home, To God, her Maker, vict'ry won — rest under heaven's dome, Dear Mother. Remember thou her not of days, when suck- ling babe I were? And youthful capers with my mates, in inno- cence did err? "Why not?" I say, when all "my world" was center'd in the hand That held "me" — little fellow — up, who was too weak to stand ! Kind Mother. 14 Her words, I well remember now, as the* 'twere yesterday ; They sank so deep into my heart as I began to pray : "My son," as calm she raised my head, "do right, let come what may," And from that day, though tempted still, "I go the righteous way." My Mother. Up thro' the fleeting years to manhood, gently as I grew, Some joys were mine, 'tis true, but oh ! the troubles that I knew ! And, through it all, what better friend in all the world I had Than she whose spirit sweeps the sky, as joined by angels glad? True Mother. "Dust to dust" — as the minister stood with outstretched arm and hand ; "Ashes to ashes" — on he read to that sad- stricken'd band, Who, mourning then, because Grim Death saw fit to enter in And steal away such "precious gem" — 'tis heaven's gain, the end. Sleep, Mother. IS Sleep on. Yea, the blessed Saviour soon'll come and gather in All His children, patient, waiting, and their sorrow He shall end. Angel-heralds, swiftly flying, as they sing "Hosannas !" We will join them, shouting, and go up with flying banners. Meet Mother. HI! YOU LITTLE DEVIL, HI! Hi ! you little devil, hi ! You think you are so mighty sly : Seeking to slay Whom you will or may ; Binding your victims night and day ; Hi ! you little devil, hi ! Run! you little devil, run! Away wi' that contemptible "fun"; Sneaking around Like a hungry hound; Trying to fool ev'ry weakling found; Run ! you little devil, run ! i6 Shoo! you little devil, shoo! No time have I to fool with you ; Folks you advise Tell yarns and *'big" lies, And then you look as if surpris'd ; Shoo! you little devil, shoo! Scat! you little devil, scat! Sly are you as a sneaking cat ; Some think you're grand, Take you by th' hand. Inviting to their whiskey-stand ; Scat! you little devil, scat! Ouch! you little devil, ouch! Please take away that horrid grouch ; It makes me sin, Hate, envy, and — then I cannot conscientiously grin ; Ouch! you little devil, ouch! Run ! you little de\'il, run ! Before the setting of the sun : 1 must make haste Now to mend my case. Ere I have ceas'd to run this race ; Run ! vou little de\il, run ! 17 THOU QUEEN O' THE WESTERN SEA. Out of the myst'ries of the past, Out o' the depths of centuries blast, Out of the hidden pages rare, Out of a history so fair, For all the world to see and know, And feel the crafty hand afore: Lift up thy head, and proudly wave Your flag, "Thou Queen o' the Western Sea !" The hundreds, yea, the thousands, more v^'^lied'd they their blood ! Struck to the core I^y discontent and tyranny ; They battled on for Liberty. The "Sons of Might," who fought their way. Prayed they to God that all might stay And see the "night of terror" flee Away, "Thou Queen o' the Western Sea!" Then one 'rose up from 'midst the fray, Who led on from captivity : "George Washington" — and may his name On down the ages shine the same. Tho' lowly as the start was made, 'Twas "Lincoln" who his country staid; God grant that all our hearts may be ' As theirs: "Thou Oueen o' the Western Sea!' Roll on, O Time! Roll on, roll on! 'Till all shall know the burden burned Of them oppres'd by Fate's decree, And join the coming jubilee. Lift up thy head, thou bee and drone, Let thriftiness by us enthrone; The "Stars and Stripes" unfurl'd, we see — Hooray! ''Thou Queen o' the Western Sea!" Arise ! ye gallant men, arise ! Measure up to your country's size ; Your noble women, you should prize; Help lift their burden to the skies. Arise, I say; make good the day, Nor ever thou forget to pray; Let victory be purchased free From stain, ''Thou Queen o' the Western Sea!" Go from th' dread yesterday, O men! Fear leave behind — the morrow'll mend; Your country's strong in th' things that make For "right and freedom." None can take Our banner down and on it frown ; Nor e'en the lustre from our crown. Until our bodies, resting be Neath clay, "Thou Queen o' the Western Sea!" 19 AFTAH DE BAT'LE. Written from an incident during the Congress at Wash- ington, D. C, January 14, 1914. (W^ith apologies.) Say, Bill, whut's awl dat fuss about Upon de Cap'tol hill? Ah hyeah a moughty rum'ling 'thout Dat room, jest lak one's kill'd. Why, Sam, dey's fi'tin obah dah. Two men wid face shav'd klean'd ; .\ hit'in heah an' hit'in thah, Jest lak de debble, seem'd. Ah hurd de noise an' out ah flew, Fah feah dey mought hu't me ; An' w'en ah runs, de othahs do, 'N feah ob dat melee. Dem ''Sinitors" dey hollard out Loud to de 'Ivator man — "Down!" dey shout, ez ef a fiah's 'bout De place, an' 'n' dey lan'd. Gee whiz ! one man wuz a runnin' 'Roun' lak hez bloomin' mad; He ax'd foh a gun to shoot sump'n, Whut hap'nd ah hope wuzn't bad. 20 Wal, Bill, ah kno'd 'twuz som'thin' doin" What'h fiah dah sho' is smok' ; Yoah rite, to act w'en trubble's brew'n, Test muv' on ez de smok'. APPREHENSION. Whut meks me shuddah w'en de rain Corn's fawl'n down so hard? An' meks we whant tah hide mahse'f Behin' somethin' dat's ood ! Whut meks me shuddah thoo 'n' thoo W'en light'nin' streaks de sky? 'N' mut'rin' thundahs sheks mah doo' An' meks me calm an' shy ! Hit gits so dark 'n' glu'my, too, An' feah cre'ps in mah heart, Dat ah would gib up awl ah knew Ah own'd, fah hit tah 'part. But den, ah 'fleets — com's tah mahse'f, 'N' sees 'tis Gawd dat sends De rain hyeah fah ouah goodness, ef We lub' Him tah de end. 21 THE PASSING OF "OLD AUNT MARIA.' (Note. — The first line of each stanza is to be sung as the chorus of "Nearer My Home," 6s, in Baptist Hymnal No. 636; published by the American Baptist Pub. Society^ Philadelphia, Pa.) "Ah'm near'er mah horn', near'er mah horn' " — Rang out upon the air, As old Aunt Maria raised her voice, With song, to God in prayer. Her form bent'd o'er by age's firm hand ; Her voice, tho' coarse, was sweet ; While angels seem'd to hover o'er, As though they came to greet. "Ah'm near'er mah hom' taliday,'^ She sang more fervently Than ever, as she leaned upon Her crooked cane that day ; Her voice, it seem'd, grew weaker And softer, as she raised Her eyes toward heaven gently. To God, in song and praise. "Yas, near'er mah hom', 'n' heav'n tahday" — Her eyes were fill'd with tears, As she remembers "Calvary," The Christ, and Cross He bears. 22 With eyes fix'd upward, as she saw Him sitting on His throne, And all the angels flying up The great "white way" that shone. "Yas, near'er mah horn' 'n' heav'n tahday"- As echoed, faintly grew The voice of one whose feeble form Was nearing its adieu. The cane she drop'd upon the floor, And shocked her old white head; Her pulse was beating slowly — Soon be number'd with th' dead. "Then ebbah ahve been befoh," Was whisper'd soft, as death Was stealing her away from there; And left them all bereft: As, one by one, they gather'd 'round And murmured — "She is gone !" Yes, old Aunt Maria's task was done On earth, that Sunday morn. :