Chapter XIX

I see the Prophet's mandate to the land,
In golden letters glit'ring in the sky:
"Fair Ethiopia shall stretch forth her hand,
Her sons shall sway the earth long ere they die!"
As swift as lightnings with the storm-clouds fly,
To light the path celestial feet have trod:
So be thy soaring to the realms on high,
When mortal feet no more shall tread this sod,
And thy holy spirit wings its homeward flight to God!

TO J. S. B.

On seeing her December 25th, 1904, after two years' travel.

Take, fair maid, these simple lines
From my pen;
Think of strollings 'neath the pines,
Which have been--
Long and lonesome were the days
We were apart,
But may Love, now, have her sways,--
Bind heart to heart!
O'er main to isle and back to land
Have I been;
Beheld on either hand
A maiden queen:
But none with captivating charms
Like thine;
None to nestle in her arms,
Love of mine!
Charms unto thee God gave
To banish strife;
To glorify and save
One sweet life--
Take this, dear, before we part
From this bliss;
'Tis but love flowing from my heart,
Thine to kiss!

THE MAYOR'S RING

I hold a token in my hand,
A very tiny thing;
And yet within its golden band
A thousand memories cling.

Aye! thrice ten thousand memories cling
Of signal victories won,
Enshrined within this little ring,
Reward of duty done.

I ever shall this token prize,
And wear it with true grace--
The tie that binds the kindred ties
Of friendship race to race.

And when I soar full through the skies,
Yet ever will I cling
Within the gates of Paradise
This sacred little ring!

WHAT'S THE USE?

Oh! What is living but moving about, Buoyed up with hope and crushed down by doubt? What is the draught of breath we harp on as life? Naught but a sip of peace, a cup full of strife-- What's the use?

What is the place we call our home, "sweet home"? Naught but a span of space where one may roam: Night's pitchy corner; a hard crust of bread; Cot for your feeble limbs, pillow your head-- What's the use?

Now, what is loving but acting a fool? And what is quitting?--Producing a rule: Break short the flight of Dan Cupid's swift dart, Aimed at the core of an innocent heart! What's the use?

Say, what is marrying but getting in trouble? Trifling 'way joy while your sorrow is double? What, then, is your state my friend, after you've wed? Naught but a vial of wrath poured upon your head! What's the use?

Ah! what is batching but living a man; Sporting and sleeping--just running his plan? Come when he's ready, and go when he please-- Brain's full of joy, his heart is at ease-- See, that's the use!

O GOD, WILT THOU HELP ME IN SCHOOL?

On Saturday, March 1, 1902, I left Alcorn and went home in
order to earn money enough to defray my expenses for the year
1902-03. I began work as soon as I reached home and labored
on father's farm until the last week in June, 1902. I had
seen by that time that there was nothing to be realized from
that source but disheartening failure.

I then acted as agent for the "Zion Record," published by
Rev. R. A. Adams, 39 St. Catherine Street, Natchez, Miss.,
until August 20, 1902. Knowing that there was a dormitory to
be built for girls at Alcorn, I went there, hoping to get
work and to be there when school opened. On arriving, I
failed to get employment. I had no money. The Boarding Hall
was run by boys who stayed over summer. Finding I was
unemployed, they refused to let me take meals with them.
There I was--friendless and penniless--without a bite of
bread and nowhere to lay my head. To drive the wolf of
starvation away and to keep from being devoured, I made
arrangements with President Lanier to cut wood for something
to eat, until school opened Sept. 2, 1902.

When school opened, the Faculty met the first day and
distributed the positions to the eligibles. On going down to
the Hall to take my first meal, to my surprise I found I had
been awarded the position of waiter. To hold a position, or
even remain on the Campus, one must matriculate within three
days after school starts, if there when it opens, or after he
arrives, if not. I then wrote home for the matriculation fee
($13), as I had labored there all summer. As that letter was
sealed my destiny was sealed in it. It was one that hauled my
anchor of hope; yes, one to bring glad tidings of great joy
and crowning success, or the gloom of disastrous failure.
Thus, having my hope sealed, I wrote across it "In Haste!"

The night of its return was a dark, rainy one. As all sat
discussing different events that had transpired since the new
session had begun, suddenly a whistle was heard. How our
hearts throbbed with gladness as we exclaimed, "There, that's
the mail!" Dear reader, you cannot imagine how overjoyed I
was. I knew that bag contained a letter for me; so anxious
was I to receive it I did not trust anyone, but rushed to the
office, and ere long my name was called.

I opened it then and there, with an eager look for a green
piece of paper styled a "Money Order." I looked, but found it
not. All hope vanished; joy faded; and gloom hovered over
me--a feeling I never before had, nor since, and I hope never
again to have, electrified my body. It was then raining at
full headway: the lightnings flashed; the thunders pealed out
peal after peal, each succeeding one louder than the first.
By this time all had gone to bed but me. I thought thought
after thought, prayed prayer after prayer, sent up cry after
cry, shed tear after tear. I went to bed, but could not
sleep. I then thought of this subject: "O God, Wilt Thou Help
Me in School?" After writing it, my feelings were changed,
the gloom was dispelled, and 'Smiling Hope' returned with
joyous tidings of happiness and a blissful future.

O, God to Thee, who knowest all things,
To Thee each being his praises brings,
In heaven, or earth, or sea, or sky--
To-night to Thee I raise my cry.

To-night as Thou doth know the why,
The why I make each tearful sigh--
Hast Thou not crowned and blest my way?
Why'st Thou forsaken me to-day?

To-night while in my deepest grief,
I calmly wait Thy sweet relief;
Thou knowest I have done my best,
Oh, give my pondering soul some rest.

To-night, O God, grant all to know,
For man to reap he first must sow;
To know to have both bread and wine
He must reap all at harvest time.

To-night, O God, to Thee I plead,
Thou must protect me, guide and lead
Through this which is my darkest night
To a day when Thou shalt give me light.

To-night my soul does bleed with pain,
As murky clouds drip down the rain!
O God, heal me of this heart ache,
For thy dear Son Christ Jesus' sake.

To-night me compass grief and fears,
To-night while drip heart-broken tears;
There seems to be no one to save
My weeping soul from chilly grave.

To-night as I, Thy servant, pray
To Thee, to turn my darkness day,
And change my many blinding fears
To brighter hope for future years.

O restless soul, thou canst not sleep,
For, ship-like, thou art tossed the deep;
Aye, tossed by surge of mighty wave,
With none to share and none to save.

O God, in Thee I now believe,
Since life in Thee I do receive;
I pray Thee now with trembling fear
To my sad soul draw near, draw near.

O God, Thou knowest this night I dread,
As 'twere to number me with the dead--
I plead to Thee as by a rule,
O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

To-night, O God, the darkest gloom
Hangs o'er me like a cloud to doom;
I cry while sitting on this stool--
O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

This wide world o'er my mind doth roam,
So many miles away from home,
With thoughts thread-like wound in a spool--
O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

Dear Lord, I ask of Thee one boon,
Pure as the light of "harvest moon";
And cry as when bathed in a pool--
O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

While time and tide flow o'er my mind,
For wisdom, Lord, I ever pine;
But not in folly of a fool--
O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

Oh, may I now look up and smile,
As children, mirthful all the while,
When playing in the shade so cool--
O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

When life's long journey nears its end,
And friend so dear must part from friend,
To bathe deep in Thy living pool--
O God, wilt Thou help me in school?

Oh days of woe, oh do relent,
For all my sins I now repent,
To bathe in Siloam's ancient pool--
O God, right now help me in school.

Ah, when this stormy life is o'er,
I'll moor my bark on th' eternal shore;
Then shall I cross life's mortal pool,
And God will then help me in school!

BEHIND THE BARS

I am a pilgrim far from home,
A wanderer like Mars,
And thought my wanderings ne'er should come,
So fixed behind the bars!

I left my sunny Southern home
Beneath the silver stars;
A northward path began to roam,
Not seeking prison bars.

I sought a higher, holier life,
Which never virtue mars;
But Fate had spun a net of strife
For me behind the bars!

My mother's lowly thatched-roofed cot
My nobler senses jars;
And so I seek to aid her lot,
But not behind the bars!

'Tis said, forsooth, the poet learns
Through sufferings and wars
To sing the song which deepest burns
Behind the prison bars!

Thus I resign myself to Fate,
Regardless of her scars;
For soon she'll open wide the gate
For me behind the bars.

I plead to you, my fellow man,
For all who wear the tars;
To lend what little help you can
To us behind the bars.

O God, I breathe my prayer to Thee,
Who never sinner bars:
Set each immortal spirit free
Behind these prison bars!

HARVARD SQUARE

'Tis once in life our dreams come true,
The myths of long ago,
Quite real though fairy-like their view,
They surge with ebb and flow;
Thus thou, O haunt of childhood dreams,
More beauteous and fair
Than Nature's landscape and her streams,
Historic Harvard Square.

My soul hath panted long for thee,
Like as the wounded hart
That vainly strives himself to free
Full from the archer's dart;
And struggled oft all, all alone
With burdens hard to bear,
But now I stand at Wisdom's throne
To-night in Harvard Square.

A night most tranquil,--I was proud
My thoughts soared up afar,
To moonbeams pouring through the cloud,
Or some lone twinkling star;
And musing thus, my quickened pace
Beat to the printery's glare,
Where first I saw a friendly face
In classic Harvard Square.

"Ho! stranger, thou art wan and worn
Of journey's wear and tear;
Thy face all haggard and forlorn,
Pray tell me whence and where?"
"I came--from out--the Sunny South--
The spot--on earth--most fair,"
Fell lisping from my trembling mouth--
"In search--of--Harvard Square."

"Here rest, my friend, upon this seat,
And feel thyself at home;
I'll bring thee forth some drink and meat,
'Twill give thee back thy form."
And then I prayed the Lord to bless
Us, and that little lair--
Quite sure, I thought, I had found rest
Most sweet in Harvard Square.

"I came," I said, "o'er stony ways,
Through mountain, hill and dale,
I've felt old Sol's most scorching rays,
And braved the stormy gale;
I've done this, Printer, not for gold,
Nor diamonds rich and rare--
But for a burning in my soul
To learn in Harvard Square.

"I've journeyed long without a drink
Nor yet a bite of bread,
While in this state, O Printer, think--
No shelter for my head.
I mused, 'Hope's yet this side the grave'--
My pluck and courage there
Then made my languid heart bear brave--
Each throb for Harvard Square."

A sound soon hushed my heart's rejoice--
"The watchman on his search?"
"No!" rang the printer's gentle voice,
"'Deak' Wilson in from church.
O'er there, good 'Deak'," the printer said,
"The wanderer in that chair,
Hath come to seek the lore deep laid
Up here in Harvard Square."

"It matters not how you implore,
He can no longer stay;
But on the night's 'Plutonian shore,'
Await the coming day.
I'm sorry, sir," he calmly said,
"Though hard, I guess 'tis fair,
Thou hast no place to lay thy head--
Not yet in Harvard Square!"

"Good night!" he said, and we the same--
I sighed, "Where shall I go?"
He soon returned and with him came
An officer and--Oh!
"Now sir, you take this forlorn tramp
With all his shabby ware,
And guide him safely off the 'Camp'
Of dear old Harvard Square."

As soon as locked within the jail,
Deep in a ghastly cell,
Methought I heard the bitter wail
Of all the fiends of hell!
"O God, to Thee I humbly pray
No treacherous prison snare
Shall close my soul within for aye
From dear old Harvard Square."

Just then I saw an holy Sprite
Shed all her radiant beams,
And round her shone the source of light
Of all the poets' dreams!
I plied my pen in sober use,
And spent each moment spare
In sweet communion with the Muse
I met in Harvard Square!

I cried: "Fair Goddess, hear my tale
Of sorrow, grief and pain."
That made her face an ashen pale,
But soon it glowed again!
"They placed me here; and this my crime,
Writ on their pages fair:--
'He left his sunny native clime,
And came to Harvard Square!'"

"Weep not, my son, thy way is hard,
Thy weary journey long--
But thus I choose my favorite bard
To sing my sweetest song.
I'll strike the key-note of my art
And guide with tend'rest care,
And breathe a song into thy heart
To honor Harvard Square.

"I called old Homer long ago,
And made him beg his bread
Through seven cities, ye all know,
His body fought for, dead.
Spurn not oppression's blighting sting,
Nor scorn thy lowly fare;
By them I'll teach thy soul to sing
The songs of Harvard Square.

"I placed great Dante in exile,
And Byron had his turns;
Then Keats and Shelley smote the while,
And my immortal Burns!
But thee I'll build a sacred shrine,
A store of all my ware;
By them I'll teach thy soul to sing
'A place in Harvard Square.'

"To some a store of mystic lore,
To some to shine a star:
The first I gave to Allan Poe,
The last to Paul Dunbar.
Since thou hast waited patient, long,
Now by my throne I swear
To give to thee my sweetest song
To sing in Harvard Square."

And when she gave her parting kiss
And bade a long farewell,
I sat serene in perfect bliss
As she forsook my cell.
Upon the altar-fire she poured
Some incense very rare;
Its fragrance sweet my soul assured
I'd enter Harvard Square.

Reclining on my couch, I slept
A sleep sweet and profound;
O'er me the blessed angels kept
Their vigil close around.
With dawning's smile, my fondest hope
Shone radiant and fair:
The Justice cut each chain and rope
'Tween me and Harvard Square!

_Cell No. 40, East Cambridge Jail,
Cambridge, Mass., July 26, 1910_

THE END

Though man through life so swiftly wends,
And o'er its journey runs his race;
Though rough, or smooth, or 'round the bends,
In distance putting fleetest friend:
Alas! there comes a halting place,
A place of rest--the journey's end!

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes

Original variations in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have been retained except for the following three changes:

Page 29: A comma was added after banks for consistency.
(From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks,--)

Page 62: Caucasin was changed to Caucasian
(statements which place them with the Caucasian race;)

Page 65: Pharaoahs changed to Pharaohs.
(Once in great splendor did thy Pharaohs rule)

Page 22: In the line: "There are homes are our natal, and nothing is fatal," the first "are" may be a typo for "our." Left unchanged.