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Refreshing Poems, 
 
 Number 1, 
 
 By G. W. BROOKS, 
 
 MARION, KY. 
 
 1904. 
 
GLASS cl xXc. Nos f 
 / 6~0 6 6 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1904 
 
 by G. W. Brooks, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In presenting this little book to the thought- 
 ful and busy reader of this enlightened day, 
 I feel it to be my duty to offer some apology, 
 and set forth some reason for requesting them 
 to give it a careful reading. In the first place 
 "Refreshing Poems" have been written at op- 
 portune times, merely to indulge a natural 
 fondness, perhaps weakness, for verse making. 
 
 In the second place, I am fully sensible of 
 the fact that there is, in this country, an in- 
 creasing demand for the literary productions 
 of negro intellect. While the soul-lifting liter- 
 ature of the Anglo-Saxon is fanning into blazes 
 fresh sparks of patriotism and noble daring, 
 many thoughtful readers of both races are ask- 
 ing "What with-holds the pen of the negro ? " 
 "Why does he contribute so little to American 
 literature ? " Afro-American school boys and 
 girls are seeking poems of negro origin for 
 public recitation. 
 
 Our teachers and ministers are ever on the 
 look out for verses worth quoting, written by 
 the negro. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In view of these considerations, and after 
 the earnest solicitation of friends who have 
 read them in manuscript, I reluctantly, though 
 hopefully, send forth the foregoing poems to 
 meet the critical test of the reading public. If 
 from that public, they receive the mark of ap- 
 proval, then, in no distant future I shall send 
 forth "Refreshing Poems, No. 2," and a work of 
 fiction on the race question, both of which are 
 now under preparation. 
 
 G. W. Brooks. 
 
What's in a Name. 
 
 What's in a name? Man lives in deeds 
 
 That blossom from the soul; 
 Not in councils, courts or creeds, 
 
 Where his name is on the roll. 
 
 We're not what names and creeds imply, 
 
 Nor what the people say; 
 Our lives alone must testify, 
 
 As we live them day by day. 
 
 What's in a name ? ' Tis sound or sight, 
 
 And thousands has misled. 
 True men are true because its right, 
 
 And not for what is said. 
 
 They live for the good that may be done, 
 And the peace they may bestow, 
 
 Not for the names that may be won 
 From creatures here below, 
 
 What's in a name ? ' Tis but a sign 
 
 Of what's supposed to be; 
 And not that which the eye divine 
 
 Doth penetrate and see. 
 
 Men may call you what they choose, 
 But still, you're what you are. 
 
 They may your flattered soul enthuse, 
 But cannot add a star. 
 
Landing of the First Twenfy. 
 
 'Twas on a sultry August day — 
 Back in the gloomy days of yore, 
 
 A lonely ship approached the bay 
 Of Jamestown, on Virginian shore. 
 
 The people spied her coming slow; 
 
 Just out upon the deep blue sea, 
 And anxious were they all to know 
 
 What the mystery of that ship might be. 
 
 Impatiently they stood and gazed — 
 Suspecting there was news to hear, 
 
 Surprised, perplexed, almost amazed, 
 On came the ship approaching near. 
 
 Boom ! The cannon belched aloud, 
 And the dying echoes quivered about. 
 
 " Landed ! " cried the jolly crowd; 
 
 But the mystery, yet, was not made out. 
 
 There soon assembled on the beach, 
 
 An eager and excited band. 
 So glad were they, the scene to reach, 
 
 A tumult raged upon the land. 
 
 ' Negroes, here, " a voice exclaimed. 
 
 "Brought here from Africa to sell. " 
 The vessel's mission thus proclaimed, 
 
 A momentary silence fell. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Then curiosity was rife, 
 
 For negroes, none had e'er beheld; 
 And they began a forward strife 
 
 That has seldom been excelled. 
 
 '' Now, don't they beat the devil, boys ! " 
 " I b'lieve they equal him, by jings ! " 
 
 Then with heedless tongue-lip noise, 
 Each man some exclamation flings. 
 
 11 They're black as midnight ! Well I'll swear!" 
 " Their noses look like slugs of mud ! " 
 
 "Say, where'd they spring from, do you know 
 where ? " 
 " No; they weren't mentioned in the flood' " 
 
 "Well, now by gosh that's a jolly set. " 
 " See that big one ! He's a whale ! " 
 
 "He's strout as Sampson, too' I'll bet. " 
 "See that foot and long toe nail. " 
 
 11 Get off my toe, sir, if you please. '' 
 
 " Excuse me — " "Gosh they look like tar." 
 
 "Whoever saw the like o' these ? " 
 
 "Look out! Don't crowd we-uns back so far." 
 
 The captain stepped out on the deck 
 And beaconed to the men on shore. 
 
 He called in husky voice to check 
 The crowd, and quietness restore. 
 
 Then stepping high upon a block, 
 He, for attention, waved his hand 
 
 And then that curious, noisy flock, 
 Stood silent at his firm command. 
 
8 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 "Good men of England's hope and pride," 
 Rang out his mellow, fluent voice. 
 
 "In your good judgment we confide, 
 That we may make your hearts rejoice: 
 
 Great wonders of your land, we heard, 
 When we were in a distant clime, 
 
 And now we tell you in a word, 
 Your future here will be sublime. 
 
 Your tobacco which has crossed the sea, 
 Has caused the world to envy you. 
 
 Abundant wealth here seems to be 
 
 To make you prosperous, brave and true. 
 
 Therefore we've brought you what you need, 
 To make you happy and content; 
 
 And now at once we'll just proceed, 
 Our propositions to present. 
 
 These Africans, we wish to trade, 
 That they may be your legal slaves. 
 
 Then you can rollick in the shade, 
 While your crops the negro saves. 
 
 You can manage them with ease, 
 And instruct them how to work. 
 
 You can trade them when you please, 
 Or flog them when they dare to shirk. 
 
 Completely at your own command, 
 
 They'll occupy a little hut, 
 They'll cultivate your fertile land, 
 
 And rich tobacco crops they'll cut. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Come on now, good men, no time to lose, 
 
 Who the first bid will declare? 
 Point out the surly buck you choose, 
 
 And let us deal upon the square. 
 
 How much tobacco do I hear 
 
 How many pounds? Who wants to buy? 
 Speak out. good men, you need not fear. 
 ' You can not run the price too high. 
 
 For a few brief moments, all were mute. 
 
 The crowd stood speechless with delight: 
 They had to ponder and compute, 
 
 And load their calibers for the fight. 
 
 Then rapidly the bids were made, 
 Eaeh man contending for the choice. 
 
 So boistrious was the verbal raid 
 
 The captain scarce could hear a voice. 
 
 " Fifty! sixty! " " Seventy-four! " 
 
 Thus ran the bids on the biggest one. 
 
 " Eightyl ninety! " "Fifteen more! " 
 The captain shouted "'All done? " 
 
 "Stand back!" exclaimed a wealthy man, 
 
 "Get back, all but just a few. 
 Give those a chance to bid, who can; 
 
 That's the way poor men should do. 
 
 " I'll give a hundred and twenty-five. " 
 
 "There now, begosh, that's more'n Fve got." 
 
 "Bid up, good men, my sakes alive, 
 That's the finest negro in the lot." 
 
10 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 "Why, on an average, every year, 
 
 That buck can raise five hundred pounds; 
 
 Now count the profits you will clear, 
 
 And see how slim your bidding sounds." 
 
 "Two hundred pounds! " " 1,11 give you three!" 
 "And twenty!" "Forty!" "Fifty!" "And one!" 
 
 "Three fifty!" "Stand back; let me see." 
 The captain paused and said "All done?" 
 
 Soon was the big one knocked off — sold, 
 
 Another stepped upon the block. 
 And one by one the tale was told 
 
 ' Till he sold the last one of that flock. 
 
 The captives then were led away, 
 
 To be instructed how to toil. 
 Thus ended that tumultuous fray; 
 
 And negroes trod American soil. 
 
 Almost three hundred years have gone, 
 
 Since that twenty landed there; 
 And while that time's been rolling on, 
 
 The negro's gone most everywhere. 
 
 ' Twas twenty then -ten million today 
 Embarked in freedom's righteous cause 
 
 And so much merit they display 
 
 The nation greets them with applause. 
 
 Since the flag of liberty unfurled, 
 
 And shed forth freedom's brilliant light, 
 
 The black man has astonished the world, 
 And put adversity to flight. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 11 
 
 Upon these sabel sons of Ham, 
 
 Sometimes is cast a haughty frown, 
 
 But still they're rising— 'tis no sham, 
 Oppression can not hold them down. 
 
Kind Words to the Despondent. 
 
 Take heart, thou sad, repining soul, 
 Call in those stupid thoughts that siroll. 
 Just venture through that veil of gloom 
 And the hopeful toils of life resume. 
 
 Despondency is not thy friend, 
 But leads to ruin in its trend- 
 Go forth with resolutions bold; 
 There are blessings for thee, yet untold. 
 
 The brightest stars shine in the dark; 
 Great fires kindle from a spark. 
 One ray of hope within thy heart, 
 Will sunshine to thy life impart. 
 
 Do not adversity despise, 
 
 For against the wind the kite must rise; 
 
 Our hardships are the native soil 
 
 In which for blessings, we must toil. 
 
 Have disappointments been thy lot? 
 Dismiss them freely from thy thought. 
 Press onward toward the crown of lite, 
 And God will help thee in the strife. 
 
 12 
 
Mind How You Say Good Morning. 
 
 Mind how you say good morning; 
 
 Upon it much depends. 
 The manner of your greeting 
 
 May turn your foes to friends. 
 
 A gentle, sweet good morning 
 
 Is sunrise to the heart, 
 Dispelling fogs of sadness 
 
 The sunshine to impart. 
 
 Mind how you say "good morning," 
 
 It doesn't cost you much 
 To make it kind and gentle 
 
 And let it go as such. 
 
 It may prove the heaping 
 
 Of coals upon the head 
 And put to flight forever 
 
 The foe you so much dread. 
 
 Mind how you say good morning; 
 
 The world will not excuse 
 The bluntness of your greeting, 
 
 Because you've got the blues. 
 
 13 
 
Memories of Childhood. 
 
 How dear to my recollection 
 
 Are the scenes of my childhood days. 
 As now in sweet reflection, 
 
 Fond memory sports and plays. 
 
 It seems to me but lately, 
 
 We play boys used to roam 
 Where green trees stood so stately, 
 
 Not far from my rustic home. 
 
 Through the eye of imagination, 
 
 And the ear of fancy's tone, 
 I see the old plantation 
 
 And hear the pigeons moan. 
 
 I see us urchins rambling 
 
 In the pleasant woodland breeze, 
 
 And the frightened squirrels a scrambling 
 And scudding up the trees. 
 
 The snow ball blooms in splendor, 
 
 In the beauty of the spring, 
 And in the tree top slender, 
 
 I hear the jay-bird sing. 
 
 All nature's gay, and redbuds 
 Hang laughing over the fence, 
 
 Between the green and the dead woods, 
 Where the new-ground fields commence. 
 
 14 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 15 
 
 Across the new-ground straggling 
 
 The plowman plods along. 
 His plowshare scratching and haggling 
 
 Through the turfs and rootlets strong. 
 
 Just across from there in the old-land 
 
 Some other plowman tread 
 "Where the stumps once made a bold stand, 
 
 But mostly now have fled. 
 
 These sullen men of few words, 
 
 Are seldom heard to sing. 
 But the quail, the lark and the bluebirds 
 
 All make the welkin ring. 
 
 I see old Bingo chasing 
 
 The bouncing, white-tail hare; 
 For the old rail fence they're racing 
 
 And the white-tail beats him there. 
 
 I hear the cataract flowing 
 
 O'er the big rock in the brook; 
 Into the hole above, I'm throwing 
 
 My patient fishing hook. 
 
 Expectant there I'm standing, 
 
 And gazing at the cork. 
 A sun-perch now I'm landing. 
 
 And I'm as happy as a lark. 
 
 I see the meadow smiling. 
 
 And the cattle grazing 'round. 
 There's the old black sow defiling 
 
 And rooting up the ground. 
 
16 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 There's so many things inviting 
 
 To memory's random stroll, 
 I know that I am slighting 
 
 Some things upon the scroll. 
 
 But such as shed their lusters 
 
 On my retrospective screen, 
 Call back my thoughts in clusters, 
 
 To the happy days I've seen. 
 
 'Tis evening now, and the hilltops 
 
 Are bidding the sun adieu; 
 The lark is hushed; the mill stops, 
 
 And the flowers blush anew. 
 
 The wheels and chains are rattling, 
 
 Returning from the field. 
 And the noisy boys come a tattling 
 
 With gladness unconcealed. 
 
 I hear the cow bell tingling. 
 
 And the milkmaid's charming voice, 
 I hear the sheep bell jingling, 
 
 And the bleating lambs rejoice. 
 
 There's the house — my father's mansion. 
 
 With its hewn-log walls of oak, 
 Whose clapboard roof expansion 
 
 Doth the gentle rains provoke. 
 
 ' Twas in that quaint enclosure, 
 
 My infancy was spent. 
 Protected from exposure, 
 
 So happy and content. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 17 
 
 Methinks I see me leaping 
 
 From the porch — a boy of ten; 
 And there's my sister sweeping, 
 
 And shooing the clucking hen. 
 
 I hear the loose planks rumbling 
 
 In the weather-beaten floor, 
 As playful tots are stumbling, 
 
 And capering 'round the door. 
 
 I see the pot-hooks swinging 
 
 In the kitchen fireplace wide: 
 To the dish the cook is flinging 
 
 The good old ham she's fried. 
 
 I see us 'round the table; 
 
 My father's at the head, 
 And tells a fib or fable 
 
 As he passes 'round the bread. 
 
 There comes the sorghum molasses 
 
 To my tin plate streaming down. 
 Grandma peeps over her glasses 
 
 And greets me with a frown. 
 
 At last the supper's ended, 
 
 We're on the porch again. 
 Where long, the time's extended 
 
 To enjoy nature's din. 
 
 There's a thousand voices ringing 
 
 From woodland, field and lake, 
 All wakeful nature singing 
 
 As if to keep us awake. 
 
18 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 ''Who cooks, who cooks for you all?" 
 Inquires the meddlesome owl. 
 
 "For who? for who? for who all?" 
 Replies a distant growl. 
 
 There's a voice that keeps commanding 
 That we should "whip poor Will," 
 
 But without an understanding 
 We refuse to whip him still. 
 
 That screech owl makes me sorry, 
 
 It screams and trembles so. 
 What makes it fret and worry? 
 
 I'd so much like to know. 
 
 There's a constant din of clamoring, 
 
 And jabbering all around 
 Of commingled voices stammering 
 
 From tree tops, lake and ground. 
 
 The frogs' perpetual roaring 
 
 Fills up each vacant space. 
 There lies old Bingo snoring, 
 
 And dreaming of the chase. 
 
 Sister Nellie tells the stories 
 She's read from Uncle Remus. 
 
 And mother tells the glories 
 Of a Savior to redeem us. 
 
 But now I see us gaping, 
 
 The conversations lull. 
 'Tis time that we were napping 
 
 For all are growing dull. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 19 
 
 My feet I'm now baptising 
 In the wash pan by the door, 
 
 And it is not surprising 
 
 That soon I'm there no more. 
 
 Look in the big room there. 
 
 Do you see us on our knees, 
 While father leads the prayer 
 
 Jehovah's will to please? 
 
 Then soon the eyelid closes 
 Upon our peaceful beds. 
 
 There, hushed in sweet reposes, 
 We rest our weary heads. 
 
 There's naught but tuneful snoring. 
 
 All wakefulness is dead 
 To dreamland, off exploring 
 
 Our tranquil souls are sped. 
 
 How peaceful was the slumber 
 Of those happy by-gone days; 
 
 But now old age is humbler 
 And my soul leaps up in praise. 
 
 For with the dead-past ages 
 My childhood days are gone 
 
 And the last of life's brief pages 
 Is swiftly drawing on. 
 
A Tribute to Herod Travis. 
 
 Come, muse of heaven, come, my pen to guide, 
 From thy lofty habitation condescend, 
 
 And with thy servant long enough abide 
 To sing the virtues of this sainted friend. 
 
 He lived beyond his three-score years and ten 
 In this vile world of unrelenting strife. 
 
 A bright example for the rest of men, 
 In all that beautifies a christian life. 
 
 In disposition, gentle as a child. 
 
 In bus'ness, true to all with whom he dealt. 
 In affliction, kind, obliging, meek and mild 
 
 Uplifting men, his helping hand was felt. 
 
 Each promise made by him was fully kept, 
 His faithful words were trusted everywhere, 
 
 And many are the people he has helped, 
 
 For black and white men did his favor share. 
 
 He loved the people where'er his lot was cast, 
 And strove to help his struggling race along. 
 
 Befriending enterprises to the last, 
 
 He sought to make their institutions strong. 
 
 But he trusted not alone in treasures here, 
 Where moths corrupt and theives break 
 through and steal. 
 He learned Jehovah's name to love and fear 
 And heavenly treasures were his constant 
 zeal. 
 
 20 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 21 
 
 He often halted men who lived in sin 
 
 And talked to them about the heav'nly land. 
 
 He prayed that they a new life might begin 
 And cast their lot within the heav'nly band. 
 
 Though absent, yet in loving hearts he lives, 
 And shall live on till time his course com- 
 pletes. 
 
 As monuments of honor, Marion gives 
 
 Many walls of brick that decorate her streets. 
 
 Those lines appeal to you in tones sublime, 
 Ye busy, unreflecting, boastful man ! 
 
 Be mindful of the shortness of your time, 
 
 And lay up heav'nly treasures while you can. 
 
 How vacant are the places which he filled ! 
 
 For there are none to take his place again. 
 How the heart of the one who loved him most 
 is thrilled 
 
 For him who life's dear comforter had been. 
 
 But there is consolation in the thought 
 
 That on some day, in some sweet by and by, 
 
 She by his side again in judgment brought 
 Will to eternal mansions with him fly. 
 
 Many who chance to read these simple lines, 
 Will resolve to meet this good old friend 
 once more 
 Where Christ, the Lord, the brilliant sun out- 
 shines; 
 And dwell forever on that blissful shore. 
 
The HeaJhen at Your Door. 
 
 If you cannot reach those o'er the sea, 
 
 On Africa's gloomy shore, 
 Can you not hear the plaintive plea 
 
 Of the heathen at your door ? 
 
 Why dream of far off savage lands 
 
 And jungles to explore, 
 When wretched and forlorn there stands 
 
 The heathen at your door ? 
 
 Let others sail on mission ships, 
 Befriend your nieghbors more. 
 
 Bestow that meeker gift of yours 
 On the heathen at your door. 
 
 If with wings of love you'd rise 
 
 And on a mission soar, 
 Sail not upward toward the skies 
 
 But light just out the door. 
 
 Fill up that borrowed life you live 
 Till streams of goodness pour 
 
 For much of life is lent to give 
 The heathen at your door. 
 
 Your path of life may be beset 
 
 With duties by the score, 
 But in your conflicts dont forget 
 
 The heathen at your door. 
 
 22 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 23 
 
 If you can not millions win, 
 
 And riches lay in store, 
 You can help to save from sin, 
 
 The heathen at your door. 
 
 Heaven smiles on those who seek 
 
 The wayward to restore, 
 And heavenly tidings you can speak 
 
 To the heathen at your door. 
 
 Our fathers trod the good old way, 
 
 Back in the days of yore, 
 They used to labor sing and pray 
 
 For the heathen at the door. 
 
 But people now have drifted so, 
 
 They seem not to deplore 
 The ignorance, folly, sin and woe 
 
 Of the heathen at the door. 
 
 Let us strive to emulate, 
 
 And bask in classic lore, 
 But lend a hand to elevate 
 
 The heathen at the door. 
 
My Little Trundle Bed, 
 
 Of all the relics of childhood, 
 
 Whatever may be said, 
 The one to me most precious 
 
 Is my little trundle bed. 
 
 There are grateful recollections 
 Of past times that have fled, 
 
 Which all have close connection 
 With my little trundle bed. 
 
 I remember how we froliced — 
 
 Myself and brother Ned, 
 Till father had to scold us 
 
 In the little trundle bed. 
 
 I remember little sister, 
 
 With dimple cheeks of red, 
 
 So often played with kitty 
 On the little trundle bed. 
 
 Oft with her spoon and tumbler, 
 That sore-eyed kit she fed, 
 
 And oft the milk she wasted 
 On my little trundle bed. 
 
 I recall that squabby baby. 
 
 Just crumbling up her bread 
 And making a general litter 
 
 On my little trundle bed. 
 
 24 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 25 
 
 That little baby darling 
 
 So many tears has shed, 
 While mama left her crying 
 
 On my little trundle bed. 
 
 She's no more baby sister. 
 
 But a woman grown, instead; 
 And we often talk together 
 
 Of the little trundle bed. 
 
 Methinks I hear it dragging, 
 
 Like the runners of a sled, 
 As from under the big bed gliding, 
 
 Rolls my little trundle bed. 
 
 I hail thee as a treasure, 
 
 My little trundle bed; 
 So often thou has rested 
 
 My weary little head. 
 
 Dont scratch those aged railings. 
 
 Be careful how you tread. 
 Remember as you move it, 
 
 l Tis my little trundle bed. 
 
 How well I do remember 
 
 The little prayers I said, 
 When I used to kneel with mother 
 
 By that little trundle bed. 
 
 She would throw her arms around me. 
 
 Dispelling all my dread; 
 And Kiss me "goodnight, till morning." 
 
 By my little trundle bed. 
 
26 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 O may I ever follow 
 
 The life that mother led, 
 And forget not what she taught me 
 
 By my little trundle bed. 
 
 That bed to me is sacred 
 
 As the good books you have read. 
 There'll always be room in my cottage 
 
 For my little trundle bed. 
 
Phillis Wheatley. 
 
 A charming little dusky maid, 
 From Africa was once conveyed 
 
 Across the stormy sea, 
 Phillis Wheatly was her name, 
 And surely she was born for fame. 
 
 For a wonderful girl was she. 
 
 A noble lady purchased her, 
 And honors on her did confer, 
 
 When yet a thoughtless child. 
 This lady sought her soul to bless 
 And make her life a great success, 
 
 She was so meek and mild. 
 
 She read the bible, we are told, 
 Quite early — scarcely eight years old— 
 
 And other books as well; 
 And when eleven years of age 
 She entertained the Boston sage 
 
 And wond'rous things could tell. 
 
 In Latin lore she soon was skilled, 
 And with Ovid's charming stories filled 
 
 Many magazines. 
 The people praised her in her youth. 
 Her brilliant reflected truth 
 
 And all that wisdom means. 
 
 27 
 
28 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Sweet poetry she wrote with ease, 
 And never did she fail to please 
 
 The souls who read her verse. 
 For heavenly muses from above 
 Enshrined her with poetic love 
 
 That did her soul immerse. 
 
 When the revolution had begun 
 She sent to General Washington 
 
 A poem praising him. 
 Then he declared if she had said 
 Such things of some one else instead 
 
 He would have published them. 
 
 He said if she should chance to roam 
 To Cambridge, or about his home, 
 
 A visit he would pay 
 To the one the muses had enrapt 
 With thoughts she could so well adapt 
 
 Such noble things to say. 
 
 At twenty-one she was released 
 
 From bondage, and her fame increased 
 
 Until it spread abroad. 
 She went to Europe for her health 
 And there noble men of wealth 
 
 Her genius did applaud. 
 
 Her former mistress soon fell sick, 
 And sent for Phillis to come home quick, 
 
 For fear she'd never rise. 
 Then sadly she recrossed the deep, 
 Arriving just in time to weep 
 
 And close the dying eyes. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 29 
 
 Poor Phillis felt bereft and grieved, 
 And many condolences received 
 
 From neighbors far and near. 
 A few more years she still survived, 
 But by and by the time arrived 
 
 When friends began to fear. 
 
 Her doleful cheeks began to shrink, 
 And soon she lay upon the brink 
 
 Of Jordan's chilly wave. 
 Her loving friends assembled 'round, 
 All steeped fn sorrow when they found 
 
 Her life they could not save. 
 
 As testimony from her soul 
 
 That God had blessed and made her whole 
 
 She left to us these lines: 
 "Once I redemption neither sought nor knew; 
 'Twas mercy brought me from my pagan land, 
 Taught my benighted soul to understand 
 That there's a God — a Savior too. 
 
 When death approached her, calm and still, 
 God sent his angels there to fill 
 
 Her soul with heav'nly peace; 
 On shining, blissful wings they bore 
 Her soul to that celestial shore 
 
 Where pleasures never cease. 
 
 So passed a brief and brilliant life, 
 From out this world of strife, 
 
 In through the pearly gate. 
 Resolve, all ye who read these lines 
 To follow where her pathway shines 
 
 Her life to imitate. 
 
They Thii\k TKcy Know it All. 
 
 Man knows but little here below, 
 
 His mental space is small. 
 And some don't know enough to know 
 
 That they don't know it all. 
 
 All wisdom's ways they laugh to scorn, 
 
 And scoff at duty's call. 
 Tis a pity, men were ever born 
 
 Who think they know it all. 
 
 You often meet them on the street 
 
 Or in a public hall 
 With lovely smiles your face they greet. 
 
 But think they know it all. 
 
 All good advice they fling aside, 
 
 Their notions to install. 
 Blindfolded by their selfish pride 
 
 They think they know it all. 
 
 'Tis vain to cross their sway 
 
 Or warn them of a fall. 
 Succeed or fail, they'll have their way, 
 
 They think they know it all. 
 
 30 
 
Drifting From the Right. 
 
 There seems to be a drifting— 
 
 Drifting toward the wrong; 
 And not so much uplifting 
 
 Of the weaker by the strong. 
 There's many a sad, heart-rending sight 
 Of drifting from the right. 
 
 There's so much wild commotion, 
 
 Pollution, sin and haste, 
 That sometimes we've a notion 
 
 The world grows more debased. 
 Humanity seems to be on flight 
 And drifting from the right. 
 
 Sin seems growing bolder 
 
 In its destructive powers. 
 Are christians growing colder, 
 
 In this fast age of ours? 
 Their duties they so often slight 
 And drift away from the right. 
 
 Boys and girls are drifting — 
 
 Engulfed on every hand. 
 Satanic hands are sifting 
 
 Their souls as sifting sand. 
 Gliding on in wretched plight 
 They're drifting from the right. 
 
 31 
 
32 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Vain parents are neglecting 
 To help them stem the tide. 
 
 No influence reflecting 
 
 To keep them at their side. 
 
 Let parents hold the reins more tight, 
 
 They're driftin from the right. 
 
 Unthoughtful girls are floating — 
 
 Unconscious of the end, 
 While wicked men are doting — 
 
 Rejoicing in their trend. 
 Those who once were honor bright, 
 Are drifting from the right. 
 
 Into shameful folly straying, 
 They drift the downward way, 
 
 While demons are betraying 
 Their virtues every day. 
 
 From sunshine into gloomy night 
 
 They're drifting from the right. 
 
 In every town and city. 
 
 In valley, hill and dale, 
 The dull, acute and witty, 
 
 The healthy and the frail, 
 The black, the brown, the lily-white 
 Are drifting from the right. 
 
 It's squander, rush and hurry 
 In fashions, steeped in sin, 
 
 And unless you join the flurry 
 You're not considered in. 
 
 Renew your grip and hold on tight, 
 
 Or you'll drift off from the right. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 33 
 
 There's pomp and push and splendor 
 
 All vanity and pride. 
 You're called on to surrender 
 
 And drift with the evil tide. 
 You must refuse, contend and fight 
 Or drift down from the right. 
 
 The evil current's flowing, 
 
 More swiftly every day: 
 Unless your strength is growing, 
 
 You're on the downward way. 
 O stem the tide with all your might. 
 Stop drifting from the right, 
 
Crispvis Attacks in the Boston Massacre. 
 
 The Queen of Night did Boston streets illume, 
 Reflecting brilliantly upon fhe snow. 
 
 And frightened people fled to offer room 
 For British soldiers marching to and fro. 
 
 Some men who dared their liberty assert, 
 Had flaunted insults at the British guards, 
 
 And it was plain that some one might be hurt 
 As maddened soldiers left their station yards. 
 
 The troops insulted people at their doors, 
 And raged like mad men in a conquered town 
 
 Parading round, repeating in a chorus — 
 
 "Where are they? Fire! Fire! Knock them 
 down!" 
 
 Then up the street, the bells began to ring. 
 
 Out rushed a gallant band of men with clubs 
 Swearing vengeance, for they felt the sting 
 
 Produced by British insults, threats and 
 snubs. 
 
 Crispus Attucks lead that gallant band; 
 
 This daring Ethiopion patriot 
 Led them onward at his brave command. 
 
 The main guard of the British troops they 
 sought. 
 
 Forthwith unto that sturdy guard they went, 
 And then, at once, an awful scene ensued; 
 
 For those Bostonians gave their feelings vent. 
 Approaching soldiers in a threatening mood. 
 
 34 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 35 
 
 They pelted them with snowballs by the score. 
 
 They brandished clubs and hot words filled 
 
 the air. 
 
 They shrieked and whistled, yelled, abused 
 
 and swore, 
 
 And frightfully great vengeance did declare. 
 
 "Why do you hesitate to knock them down?" 
 
 The gallant Attucks cried; 
 ''They dare not fire upon us here in town. 
 Shoot! you red-coats! America's on our side." 
 
 The soldiers leveled muskets at the crowd, 
 And stood as they trembled in silent rage, 
 
 For they were itching just to be allowed 
 To resent the insults cast at General Gage. 
 
 Just then a club knocked down a soldier's gun; 
 
 Then "Fire! Fire!" was Prescot's vigorous 
 yell. 
 As quick as ordered the fatal act was done, 
 
 And first of all Crispus Attucks fell. 
 
 He lay there dying on the frosty snow, 
 
 Three of his bleeding comrades lay near by. 
 
 The tyrant's cruel lead had laid them low, 
 But for liberty they did not fear to die. 
 
 Thus, first of all, the blood of Attucks flowed 
 To free America from King George's reign. 
 
 This gallant hero opened up the road 
 
 That lead to vict'ry o'er the tryant's chain. 
 
36 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 For when he'd drawn his last departing breath 
 His spirit kindled a patriotic flame. 
 
 Men shouted, "Give me liberty, or give me 
 death," 
 And liberty bestirred herself and came. 
 
 Let those who eulogize with tongue or pen 
 The martyrs of America's righteous cause, 
 
 Fail not to mention Attucks with the men 
 Whose blood released us from Great Brit- 
 ian's laws. 
 
 In Boston may his statue ever stand. 
 
 Silently warning statesmen in their haste 
 To heed the claims of the negro in this land. 
 
 From which his blood can never be erased. 
 
Tke Sunrise. 
 
 Over the hilltops peeping. 
 
 In beautiful array. 
 As if from peaceful sleeping, 
 
 Creeps forth the King of day. 
 
 He spies the Western tree tops, 
 And bids the robbin rise. 
 
 The owl his hooting spree stops 
 And the bat in slumber lies. 
 
 He has scattered night asunder, 
 
 And cast aside its veil. 
 He is calling from their slumber. 
 
 The healthy and the frail. 
 
 He is lighting up the valley 
 
 With life-infusing rays, 
 All nature seems to rally 
 
 And join in grateful praise. 
 
 His crimson face is glowing 
 With good will, peace and joy. 
 
 The rooster has been crowing 
 
 And the birds their songs employ. 
 
 The cheerful bluebirds twitter 
 As from their nests they fly. 
 
 Despairing dew drops glitter 
 And wane away and die. 
 
 37 
 
38 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Press on thou king of day time. 
 
 With smiling rays of cheer. 
 Bestow another gay time 
 
 On us poor creatures here. 
 
 Last night we were so weary, 
 Whilst thou wast gone below, 
 
 And mother earth was dreary! 
 But now she's all aglow. 
 
 Press upward to thy zenith, 
 And we will strive for ours: 
 
 For all that this day meaneth, 
 Depends upon thy powers. 
 
Benjamin Banneka. 
 
 Did you ever hear of Banneka — 
 
 Maryland's noble, gifted son, 
 The noted Benjamin Banneka, 
 
 Who once so many honors won? 
 
 This humble genius was endowed 
 With talents such as made him great 
 
 And he astonished many a crowd 
 That went to hear him calculate. 
 
 For himself he studied out 
 
 And made a clock to keep his time. 
 
 This skillful project helped, no doubt, 
 To make his brilliant name sublime. 
 
 He made a famous almanac. 
 
 And when he published it abroad, 
 Throughout the land, there was no lack 
 
 Of words, his genius to applaud. 
 
 Five languages he fluently spoke. 
 
 And was skilled in scientific arts 
 Great admiration he awoke 
 
 In many fond and noble hearts. 
 
 He even wrote to Jefferson. 
 
 The patriotic president, 
 Whose confidence and praise he won 
 
 As reward for what his brain had spent. 
 
 39 
 
40 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Said Jefferson in his reply, 
 
 "Your thoughtfulness calls forth my thanks. 
 No one wishes more than I 
 
 To lift your race to higher ranks. 
 
 Your almanac I've sent to France, 
 For your whole color has a right 
 
 To the evidence which you advance 
 
 To put the white man's doubts to flight." 
 
 In Europe he was widely known; 
 
 And when his spirit left the earth, 
 That country joined in with his own, 
 
 In testifying to his worth. 
 
 His name still lives on history's page, 
 And shall live on till the end of time, 
 
 Inspiring men in every age, 
 
 To make their lives like his — sublime. 
 
The Sunday Sckool Picnic, 
 
 The morn of the picnic dawned at last — 
 
 A beautiful summer day, 
 And the children hurried quick and fast 
 
 AIL jubilant and gay. 
 
 So anxious they had waited long 
 
 This glorious day to see; 
 And now they came a happy throng, 
 
 As jolly as they could be. 
 
 Impatient in the old church yard. 
 
 All eager for the stroll. 
 The little lassies found it hard 
 
 Their yearnings to control. 
 
 Vehicles rumbled through the street; 
 
 And welcome was the noise 
 As the trusty drivers came to meet 
 
 The waiting girls and boys. 
 
 Gracefully fell the wheels in line, 
 
 Heavy laden were the seats 
 And covered baskets showed the sign 
 
 Of delicious meats and sweets. 
 
 Not only children made the crowd. 
 
 Fond parents climbed in too, 
 In sympathy they'd been allowed 
 
 To see the children through. 
 
 41 
 
42 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Then started that procession grand — 
 
 Bound for the river side. 
 The people gazed on every hand 
 
 And envied them the ride. 
 
 Gayly sped each mettled steed, 
 
 The wilderness to greet 
 The outers saw the town recede 
 
 And take its long retreat 
 
 On they swept from lane to lane 
 
 Baptised in clouds of dust. 
 No grumbling voice was heard complain 
 
 For go they would and must. 
 
 Up the rocky hills they climbed. 
 
 And down the hills they fled. 
 The chattering hack wheels screaked and 
 rhymed. 
 
 As joyfully on they sped. 
 
 The farmer's wives in great surprise, 
 
 Oft stood within the door. 
 Peeping, peering with lusty eyes 
 
 The mystery to explore. 
 
 Gleefully onward still they drove. 
 
 Now through the sunshine bright 
 Then dashing through a shady grove 
 
 And putting birds to flight. 
 
 So frightened they a farmer's colt, 
 
 It forsook its mamma's side 
 And nickering in its frantic bolt, 
 
 "They're after me," it cried. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 43 
 
 Rattling, bumping, jostling on 
 
 This jolly picnic crew 
 O'er thirteen rugged miles had gone 
 
 When the river loomed in view. 
 
 Then rushing through the little ville 
 
 That stood on one of its banks 
 Each bosom felt a joyous thrill 
 
 And breathed a breath of thanks. 
 
 Upon the bank they wheeled about — 
 
 Almost upon the brink, 
 The weary teams were taken out 
 
 And refreshed with rest and drink. 
 
 Now stood on the bank of the Ohio 
 
 Each wonder seeking child; 
 And some were charmed and delighted so, 
 
 The tranquil water smiled. 
 
 "Welcome," said the peaceful stream 
 
 To the lasses on the shore. 
 "Why so shy and bashful seem? 
 
 Have you never been here before?" 
 
 'Shame on you then, you need not frown, 
 
 You silly backland girls. 
 You miserable prisoners of the town! 
 
 Shame on your boastful curls. 
 
 Why should your parents let you live 
 
 Penned up so near to me? 
 No opportunities would they give. 
 
 My lovely face to see? 
 
44 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Shame on them then the stupid things 
 That they should break my laws 
 
 Rob you of a boon that nature gives 
 And that without a cause. 
 
 "Stop. Wait a minute, child, don't go; 
 
 Some things I wish to tell — 
 Some little things you ought to know. 
 
 And ought to know them well, 
 
 We're closer kin than you surmise 
 
 Though you're not to blame 
 It can be shown to your surprise 
 
 Our interests are the same. 
 
 'Tis I that puts life in the tree 
 Beneath whose shade you play. 
 
 My vapor forms the clouds you see 
 And makes the the rainy day. 
 
 Those juicy apple which you eat 
 
 Allow their lives to me, 
 Through scorching sunshine, cold and heat, 
 
 I nourish that tender tree. 
 
 I'm the potent fount of life and growth 
 
 In this great land of ours, 
 I scatter abroad and send out both — 
 
 The breezes and the showers. 
 
 I send aloft the flying cloud 
 
 That sails o'er hill and plain. 
 Blessing the humble and the proud 
 
 With fresh, life-giving rain. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 45 
 
 Some of the blood within your veins 
 Once through my channel played, 
 
 Perhaps your teacher's taken pains 
 To show you how you're made. 
 
 Oh, I'm detaining you too long; 
 
 You may go now it you wish. 
 If yon had your hooks and they were strong 
 
 I'd treat you to some fish. 
 
 If you had the time I'd tell you more 
 
 But of course you have it not, 
 So turn your steeds back up my shore 
 
 And resume your rocky trot. 
 
 "Good bye, dear river!" the children said, 
 
 "Good bye," the waters sighed. 
 Then Wilson's hack the rough way led 
 
 And rattling went the ride. 
 
 All off for the spring, the famous spring; 
 
 Like Ponce de Leon of old. 
 Willing to venture anything 
 
 They rushed with courage bold. 
 
 Ruddle, puddle, rockety, flip. 
 
 Up and down the hills, 
 The wheels went humpty, bumpty, slip 
 
 In the gullies of the rills. 
 
 At last when three long miles were spent 
 
 Since bidding the river adieu 
 Into a dark ravine, they went, 
 
 Midst trees of everv hue. 
 
46 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Then bowed the green oaks, tall and slim, 
 And bade them welcome there; 
 
 While gay birds flit from limb to limb 
 Their happiness to share. 
 
 Soon, appearances gave the sign 
 
 That something was at hand. 
 "Whoa!" was uttered 'long the line 
 
 And the horses came to a stand. 
 
 All feeling glad and gratified 
 
 Alighted on the ground. 
 Rewarded was the toilsome ride 
 
 For the cool spring now was found. 
 
 They rushed upon that fountain clear, 
 
 To admire, drink and rest. 
 'Twas soul refreshing to be here — 
 
 The cool spring's welcome guest. 
 
 "You're here at last," the tall trees spoke. 
 
 In nature's silent voice, 
 "Your presence really seems a joke. 
 
 Be merry and rejoice." 
 
 From shrub and bush the echo came 
 
 "Be merry and rejoice." 
 And distant hill tops sent the same 
 
 Calm, soul-inspiring voice. 
 
 The real picnic uow took place. 
 
 The bounteous feast was spread. 
 Gladness beamed on every face 
 
 And pleasant words were said, 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 47 
 
 All that appetites could wish 
 
 Or hungry souls could crave 
 Came teeming forth from plate and dish 
 
 At the command of the true and brave. 
 
 There were meats and sweets and corn-bread 
 
 And bread that wasn't corn, 
 Till every soul was pleased and fed 
 
 And the baskets left — forlorn. 
 
 The picnic over, fun began. 
 
 The mulberry tree was found 
 With rocks and sticks the boys ran 
 
 And the berries sought the ground. 
 
 The target gun was brought along 
 
 A shooting match was formed 
 And in a merry sportful throng 
 
 LiKe bees the children swarmed. 
 
 Bang! they fired at the spot. 
 
 Bang! the echo came. 
 And the way they missed and hit it not 
 
 Made the ladies blush with shame. 
 
 The woods seemed teeming full of fun. 
 
 The old folks were amused 
 To see the playful children run, 
 
 Although they felt excused, 
 
 Like lambs the little noisy tots 
 
 Ran up and down the hillside. 
 Rejoicing in their playful plots 
 
 Their hearts were satified. 
 
48 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 O; how the old folks wished that they 
 
 Were children once again 
 To share the pleasures of that day, 
 
 Released from cares and sin. 
 
 At last the signal call was sent 
 
 Throughout the gleeful band; 
 For the gala day was well nigh spent. 
 
 And the old folks took command. 
 
 The superintendent and teachers all 
 
 In semi-circle groups 
 Sent forth the mandatory call 
 
 And the children came in troops. 
 
 Then when brief remarks were made, 
 
 Familiar hymns they sang. 
 Reverberating in the shade 
 
 The woods with music rang. 
 
 The singtng ceased, all heads were bowed, 
 
 Their humble thanks to pay 
 To Him by whom they'd been allowed 
 
 The blessings of the day. 
 
 Again, their voices, clear and strong 
 
 Rang out upon the breeze. 
 As if the winds were turned to song, 
 
 And echoed from the trees. 
 
 Each superintendent made a talk 
 
 Upon the Sunday school. 
 Instructing children how to walk 
 
 And keep the golden rule. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 49 
 
 The hackmen now the teams untied 
 From the bushes where they stood, 
 
 Made ready for the returning ride 
 As hast'ly as they could, 
 
 And as the hack wheels rolled away, 
 
 Every soul was glad 
 That all had spent this joyful day 
 
 In the very way they had. 
 
 They returned along diff'rent route 
 From the one in which they came. 
 
 A wonderful rock they'd heard about 
 And longed to see the same. 
 
 So the gala day was not complete; 
 
 More fun was on ahead, 
 For destined were those childish feet, 
 
 That mighty rock to tread. 
 
 The pinnacle rock was all their thought 
 
 As they merrily rolled along. 
 They hurried toward that famous spot. 
 
 Its mossy peaks to throng. 
 
 The rock, the rock was all their plea; 
 
 The pinnacle rock of old. 
 Upon that rock they soon would be, 
 
 Its wonders to behold. 
 
 They hustled through the sprinkling rain 
 Which dampened not their wills. 
 
 Their souls leaped forth in sweet refrain. 
 While glancing at the hills. 
 
50 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 At last, across the weedy field, 
 
 They spied a rugged height, 
 And the children's lips were all unsealed, 
 
 And broke loose with delight. 
 
 No longer could those rampant lads 
 
 Be held in their suspense, 
 But rushing out like wiggle-tads, 
 
 They hastTy leaped the fence. 
 
 Like soldiers on the battle field, 
 
 When charging on a fort, 
 They shriek'd and yell'd, whoop'd and squeaFd 
 
 And pressed on in their sport. 
 
 Some parents in hacks preferred to stay; 
 
 They looked on in delight. 
 Unbidden, rose the wish that they 
 
 Were young and in that flight. 
 
 Like General Wolfe, the leader spies 
 
 A path up the shrubby steep. 
 "All follow me," he bravely cries. 
 
 And up the hill they sweep. 
 
 Then shouts of admiration rose. 
 
 From all those left behind. 
 As up the cliff on careful toes. 
 
 Was echoed through the crowd. 
 
 "Upon the mountain! Here we go!" 
 Through the bushes came the yell. 
 
 "We're climbing up on Mount Nebo.T 
 The voices rose and fell. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 51 
 
 Look! now the front ranks reach the top, 
 
 And stand without a fear, 
 While far beneath with never a stop 
 
 A crowd brings up the rear. 
 
 Gay voices from the tip ring down 
 
 And greet the crowd below. 
 Whose eyes gaze up with anxious frown 
 
 As struggling on they go. 
 
 At last, the hindmost one is there; 
 
 And what a happy band, 
 For they can see most everywhere 
 
 And view the distant land. 
 
 "Let's sing a song," a boy exclaimed, 
 
 "Up here on Pinnacle Rock." 
 But, while to sing they were not ashamed, 
 
 Too curious was the flock. 
 
 Upon that famous rock sublime. 
 
 All round about they walked; 
 Against the demands of Father Time, 
 
 They strolled about and talked. 
 
 The beauteous landscape met their view, 
 
 Far as the eye could see, 
 Their minds ran out in fancies new, 
 
 And their hearts were full of glee. 
 
 With admiration all aglow, 
 
 They read in the solid stone, 
 Queer names cut there long years ago 
 
 By hands long since unknown. 
 
52 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 At last they turned away and left 
 
 That scene of much delight, 
 Oft gazing back at the rugged cleft. 
 
 To catch a farewell sight. 
 
 The sun approached the Western hills 
 As homeward bound they sped, 
 
 The lowing herds and whistling mills 
 Proclaimed the day most fled. 
 
 And many weary longing eyes 
 
 Shot forth to catch a glance 
 Of the city steeples soon to rise 
 
 And greet their swift advance. 
 
 And now the smiling city rose, 
 
 To bid them welcome in; 
 And ere the twilight shadows close, 
 
 They were safely home again. 
 
 Like a happy dream; it came and went- 
 
 The jolly picnic day; 
 But, long as life is yet unspent, 
 
 In memory it shall stay. 
 
TKc Voice of Conscience. 
 
 There's a voice that's pleading with my soul, 
 
 It's pleading every day; 
 It importunes and seeks control 
 
 Of all I do and say. 
 
 It follows everywhere I go, 
 
 Abiding day and night; 
 And whether my spirit's high or low, 
 
 It whispers, "Do the right." 
 
 "Do right, do right," it ever pleads, 
 
 In accents meek and mild; 
 Sometimes my weary feet, it leads 
 
 O'er deserts waste and wild. 
 
 That loving, tender, pleading voice 
 
 Is sometimes hard to heed; 
 It sometimes makes my heart rejoice 
 
 And sometimes makes it bleed. 
 
 It sometimes leads against the will 
 
 Of relatives or friends, 
 But when its mandates I fulfil, 
 
 My actions it commends. 
 
 That still, small voice is pleading now, 
 
 And urging me to start 
 And carry out the solemn vow, 
 
 Long made within my heart. 
 
 53 
 
Progress of Slavery is\ tke Colonies- 
 
 Owing to the fruits of negro labor, 
 
 Jamestown in speculation grew; 
 Most every wealthy man and neighbor, 
 
 Favored slavery in his view. 
 
 So while demand for slaves was growing, 
 Shiploads of ether negroes came; 
 
 Their labors soon made such a showing, 
 Virginia much enhanced her fame. 
 
 And though it may seem somewhat funny, 
 
 To people in this latter day: 
 They used the negros then for money, 
 
 And the preachers took them for pay. 
 
 The negroes were badly treated, 
 
 No personal rights were they allowed: 
 
 Even when their work they had completed, 
 They could not gather in a crowd. 
 
 Far out upon the wide plantation. 
 
 The negro occupied a hut; 
 And if he sought for an education 
 
 Against him every door was shut. 
 
 The victim of his master's notion, 
 
 He had no use for thought; 
 But for his muscular locomotion — 
 
 Like the horse, the negro slave was bought, 
 
 54 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 55 
 
 Ship loads of negroes also landed, 
 
 Away up in New Amsterdam; 
 Their labors there, the dutch demanded, 
 
 And bargained for the sons of Ham. 
 
 The Dutch folks treated slaves more kindly, 
 
 And did some privileges give: 
 For though they did not dress so finely, 
 
 Negroes could more like people live. 
 
 They could hanlde books and learn to read them 
 And when their daily tasks were done, 
 
 Some had their masters to instruct them 
 And thus some education won. 
 
 But English people were so haughty, 
 When they came to rule that land; 
 
 To negroes, they were cruel and naughty, 
 And kept them under fierce command, 
 
 In what is now our New York City, 
 The whipping boss was in evidence; 
 
 He lashed the negro without pity, 
 For almost any slight offence. 
 
 And once between the slave and master, 
 
 So much hatred was possessed, 
 The negroes rose and brought disaster, 
 
 But by soldiers were suppressed. 
 
 In Massachusetts, too, there landed 
 
 Negroes in an early day, 
 Even where the pilgrims had demanded, 
 
 That liberty should have full sway. 
 
56 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Connecticut, too, and small Rhode Island, 
 The hand of welcome did extend; 
 
 In valleys and on rocky high lands, 
 For slaves, the people did contend. 
 
 New Hampshire, Maryland, South Carolina, 
 And Georgia, did for slaves, declare; 
 
 So did New Jersey, North Carolina, 
 Pennsylvania and Deleware. 
 
 Thus slavery got full recognition, 
 
 In all the colonies of old; 
 For in their greedy, rude condition, 
 
 Men cherished it with courage bold. 
 
 In the north, few crops were possible, 
 Therefore, the northern colonist 
 
 Found slave investments losable, 
 And began its evils to resist. 
 
 House servants only, could they be, 
 
 And then there came the northern sequel- 
 
 That human beings should be free, 
 
 And human rights should be more equal. 
 
 And when colonial days were ended, 
 And statehood rights they did enjoy; 
 
 The northern states, as was intended, 
 The curse of slavery did destroy. 
 
 But the people of the South were doomed, 
 
 To hold on to that awful curse; 
 For slaves were blessings, they presumed, 
 
 Because they helped to swell the purse. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 57 
 
 The negro slave was so well suited, 
 
 To the scorching rays of the summer sun;* 
 
 That every increase was saluted, 
 Because of what slave labor won. 
 
 The southern people cultivated 
 
 Tobacco, cotton and indigo; 
 That's why the Southland highly rated, 
 
 And held on to the negroes so. 
 
The Heroes of the War of 1812.* 
 
 Out upon the deep and roaring sea, 
 Awful as the frightful sight could be; 
 Fierce and wild, a naval battle raged, 
 In which the brave Johnson was engaged. 
 
 John Davis, too, was in that mighty fight, 
 Contending bravely for the cause of right; 
 Both to the front ranks rushed and fearless 
 
 fought, 
 Unscared and heedless where the fight was hot. 
 
 The hard pressed vessel, totered, reeled and 
 
 rocked. 
 While thick and fast, the whizzling bullets 
 
 flocked; 
 Like dauntless spartans in the days of old, 
 These faithful heroes fought with courage bold 
 
 But while they struggled with the mighty foe, 
 A cannon ball laid brave John Johnson low. 
 It cruely swept his lower limbs away, 
 And writhing on the deck, his body lay. 
 
 But he saw, while perishing there in despair, 
 The stars and stripes still waving in the air. 
 "Fire away, my boys!" he cried with painful 
 
 frown, 
 "Fire away! No haul a color down." 
 
 *See Johnson's Negro History, Page 77. 
 
 58 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 59 
 
 Then as the fight progressed, another ball 
 
 The legs of Davis swept and let him fall. 
 
 As his comrades stumbled 'round his mangled 
 
 frame, 
 The captain heard his feeble voice exclaim: 
 
 ''Just throw me overboard! Do! if you please! 
 For I am only in the way of these!" 
 Thus these piteous heroes cried — 
 Trying to help their comrades turn the tide. 
 
 One shouted dying words, the fight to cheer, 
 The other sought to leave the passway clear. 
 Bravely were the words of the first obeyed, 
 But no attention to the other was paid. 
 
 Still rose the voice as if from the dead, 
 "Fire away! My boys!" it faintly said. 
 "No-haul-a-color-down" it feebly cried, 
 Growing weaker, fainter, echoing till it died. 
 
 Still, the other voice, in agony implored: 
 "O Captain! Captain! Throw me overboard!" 
 So piteously, this dying man appealed, 
 Down the captain's cheek a tear crept uncon- 
 cealed. 
 
 Then glancing 'round with sympathetic eye, 
 The captain wished the noble man would die. 
 At last, the voices both were hushed in death, 
 And sad, but freer, the captain drew his breath. 
 
 "The stars and stripes are safe," said he, 
 And protected will Old Glory ever be. 
 America need not fear the tryant's might, 
 While men like these are standing for the right." 
 
My Country. 
 
 My country! How I love the name, 
 
 Of the land that made free! 
 Thy hills and valleys all proclaim, 
 
 That thou art dear to me! 
 
 The sun sheds forth his smiling rays 
 
 Upon no fairer land — 
 Where reigneth peace and grateful praise 
 
 At heaven's sweet command. 
 
 I'm glad my humble lot was cast 
 
 Upon this scope of earth; 
 My country, while this life shall last, 
 
 Shall reap what I am worth. 
 
 How beautiful, thy hills and plains, 
 
 Spread out from sea to sea 
 Where peace and plenty ever reigns, 
 
 In the happy homes of the free ! 
 
 Who does not love his native land? 
 
 Breathes there a soul so dead, 
 He does not feel and understand 
 
 The blessings 'round him spread? 
 
 Arise ye stupid, from the dust, 
 And heed your country's call; 
 
 Why sleep and pine away and rust? 
 There's labor for us all. 
 
 60 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 61 
 
 America ! How sweet, the sound ! 
 
 America ! My home ! 
 For her, let joyful sounds abound, 
 
 Where e'er her subjects roam. 
 
Color Doesn't Make the Man. 
 
 Color doesn't make the man, 
 Tis what's beneath the skin— 
 
 Not that which the eye can see, 
 But something hid within. 
 
 You may be as white as snow, 
 
 And yet not be a man. 
 A man is one who loves the right 
 
 And does the best he can. 
 
 Color doesn't make the man, 
 
 Do not be deceived. 
 It takes sometime to know a man, 
 
 In whom you have believed. 
 
 Beneath surface of the skin, 
 
 The hue is just the same: 
 And for the outward coloring, 
 
 Man is not to blame. 
 
 Color doesn't make the man; 
 
 There's much that it may lack 
 Your superior may comfort you now, 
 
 Beneath a skin that back. 
 
 A man's a man because of deeds, 
 
 That crope out from within 
 'Tis noble hearts, the world most needs- 
 
 Not colors of the skin. 
 
 62 
 
The Negro's Here to Stay. 
 
 Men may talk and legislate, 
 
 And figure night and day; 
 Now matter how they calculate, 
 
 The negro's here to stay, 
 
 He may be forced to stand aside, 
 By those who have the sway; 
 
 His equal rights may be denied, 
 But yet he's here to stay. 
 
 To Africa hell never go, 
 
 For pleasure, love nor pay, 
 So give the son of Ham a show, 
 
 For he is here to stay. 
 
 White men argue, talk and plan 
 
 And clever thoughts convey, 
 As to what they'll do with the black man, 
 
 But the negro's here to stay. 
 
 This is a white man's country, here — 
 
 At least that's what they say, 
 But the negro entertains no fearj 
 
 For he is here to stay. 
 
 Why not grasp the negro's hand 
 
 And help him on the way? 
 The white man brought him to this land, 
 
 And he is here to stay. 
 
 63 
 
64 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Whether the negro's rich or poor 
 And whether at work or play, 
 
 Of one thing we may all be sure — 
 The race is here to stay. 
 
 The negro's blood helped pay the price 
 
 Of the peace we have today. 
 Breathes there a soul who feels too nice 
 
 For the negro here to stay. 
 
 You need not scorn his humble birth 
 
 And strut by him so gay; 
 For as long as heaven rules the earth 
 
 The negro's here to stay. 
 
 So remember the negro in your prayers, 
 
 If ever you kneel to pray, 
 And he will share your toils and cares, 
 
 For he is here to stay. 
 
"As de Eagle StuKs Up Huh NesV* 
 
 I'm not much on de sciences. 
 
 I'm a plain gospel man. 
 I preach whut's in de bible, 
 
 And does de bes' I can. 
 
 Now I tell you in de outset, 
 
 I b'lieves in movin' about 
 Weligion's not wuth havin' 
 
 Ef it doesn't make you shout. 
 
 I doesn't b'lieve in skweenchin' de speerit, 
 
 When you want to holler out. 
 You won't distub my pweachin'; 
 
 Ef you feels lack shoutin', shout. 
 
 Now kwritics, I guess you's heuh, 
 
 And Mr. Skeptic, too, 
 And 'f o I takes my tex' up, 
 
 I'll pay my 'spects to you. 
 
 Ef you come heuh to kwriticise 
 
 And not to heah and b'lieve. 
 You jes' as well to pack yo' gwipp, 
 
 Right now. and take yo' leave. 
 
 Cause I doesn't keer fuh gwamma. 
 
 Hist'ry and withmutics, 
 I'se got no Gweek and Latin, 
 
 To de gospel truf I sticks. 
 
 65 
 
66 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Now bwudden an' sistuhs 
 
 My tex' you'd nevuh guess. 
 Now, listen an' I'll read it — 
 
 '"As de eagle stuhs up huh ness." 
 
 Don't ax me whah its at, now. 
 
 'Taint none o' yo' bizniz 'bout dat. 
 You ladies stop dat talkin' ! 
 
 Dis aint no place to chat. 
 
 Yo' silks and feathuhs makes you fools; 
 
 You thinks you's mighty gran' 
 But I doesn't take no f oolinish 
 
 I'd have you unduhstan'. 
 
 Now den to de tex' again: 
 
 "As de eagle stuhs up huh ness." 
 
 Now, bwuduhs and sistuhs, pray, 
 An' de Lawd will own an' bless. 
 
 I'm awful hoase dis evenin', 
 
 Friad my voice gwine to give way. 
 
 But de Lawd will pull me through 
 Ef you'll jes' only pray. 
 
 Dah's gwine to be a mighty stuhrin 
 
 In dis po'tion of de Ian'. 
 De Lawd's gwine to stuh de sinnuhs 
 
 What doesn't keep his command. 
 
 Ef you evuh gits to heavun 
 You's got to quit yo' stealin'. 
 
 Unless you do yo' 'ligion's dead — 
 Taint got no life an' feelin'. 
 
 LofC; 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 67 
 
 "As de eagle stuhs up huh ness," 
 
 Jes listen to de word! 
 Wake up! and stop dat sleepin, 
 
 De gospel mus' be heard. 
 
 De eagle is a mighty bird, 
 
 Six foot f'om tip to tip. 
 Now hold on to dese gospel fac's, 
 
 Min' don't let um slip. 
 
 "As de eagle stuhs up huh ness." 
 
 'Member dat's de tex'. 
 "We'll pass on from de fus' pint 
 
 An' now take up de nex'. 
 
 Can't you witness to de truf '? 
 
 Why dou't you say a-man? 
 I lacks to heah some witnesses, 
 
 When I does de bes' I can. 
 
 De eagle sails above ail birds. 
 
 Yes! He can sail so high 
 Dat ef you try to look at him 
 
 You'd ovuh strain yo' eye. 
 
 So you, my bwuduhs and my sistuhs, 
 
 Mus' sail above yo' sins. 
 Its when you sails too low 
 
 Yo' trouble all begins. 
 
 We'll stuh up dis old ness down heah, 
 
 An' leave dis house of clay, 
 An' fly up to de bulah land 
 
 Whah its always bwight as day. 
 
68 REFRESHING POEMS 
 
 Can't nobody say a-man? 
 
 You sets dah like you's dead. 
 Won't yo' 'ligion make you do no mo' 
 
 Dan set and nod yo' head? 
 
 As de eagle stuhs her ness. 
 
 Yes! He sails above de cloud 
 An' looks down on de lightnin* 
 
 He feels so gran' and proud. 
 
 Yes! De eagle stan's upon de cloud 
 
 An' bids his sorrows cease 
 De sun shines on his werry head 
 
 An' fills his soul wid peace, 
 
 Ah, yes! I don't care whudder you shout or not 
 
 'Gwine to pweach on anyhow, 
 De gospel wheel is rollin' 
 
 An' you can't stop it now. 
 
 De Lawd is gwine to stuh up 
 
 Dis hellish wicked town. 
 He's coming at de las' day 
 
 An' yo' sins will all be foun'. 
 
 Yes! Evuh sekwet of de haht 
 
 Shall sweetly be made known. 
 Unless you sinnuhs make a staht 
 
 In hell you'll burn and moan. 
 
 As de eagle stuh up huh ness! 
 
 Yes! 'Way by and by. 
 When all who loves de name of de Lawd 
 
 Gwine to fly up to de sky. 
 
REFRESHING POEMS 69 
 
 Den we'll meet de good folks 
 Whuts gone dah long ago — 
 
 Now baskin' in de sunshine 
 On dat etuhnal sho,. 
 
 Now pray on chillun, pray on. 
 
 May de Lawd own and bless. 
 'Member whut my tex' wus — 
 
 "As de eagle stuhs up huh ness." 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 What's in a Name ? 5 
 
 Landing of the First Twenty 6 
 
 Kind Words to the Despondent 12 
 
 Mind How You Say Good Morning 13 
 
 Memories of Childhood ... 14 
 
 Herod Travis . . . . . . 20 
 
 The Heathen at Your Door 22 
 
 My Little Trundle Bed 24 
 
 Phillis Wheatley 27 
 
 They Think They Know It All 30 
 
 Drifting From the Right 31 
 
 Crispus Attucks in the Boston Massacre 34 
 
 The Sunrise 37 
 
 Benjamin Banneka 39 
 
 The Sunday School Picnic 41 
 
 The Voice of Conscience 53 
 
 Progress of Slavery in the Colonies 54 
 
 The Heroes of the War of 1812 58 
 
 My Country 60 
 
 Color Doesn't Make the Man 62 
 
 The Negro's Here to Stay 63 
 
 As de Eagle Stuhs Up Huh Nes' . 65 
 
 70 
 
ftM 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 iiiii inn iiiii iitinn 
 
 III 
 
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