OLD JIM CROW
Wherever we live, it’s right to forgive,
It’s wrong to hold malice, we know,
But there’s one thing that’s true, from all points of view,
All Negroes hate old man Jim Crow.
His home is in hell; he loves here to dwell;
We meet him wherever we go;
In all public places, where live both the races,
You’ll always see Mr. Jim Crow.
Be we well educated, even to genius related,
We may have a big pile of dough,
That cuts not a figger, you still are a nigger,
And that is the law with Jim Crow.
But the Negro is seldom humorous these days on the subject of racial discriminations. Occasionally, in dialect verse, he still makes merry with the foibles or over-accentuated traits of certain types of the Negro. In general, however, the Negro verse-smith goes to his work with a grim aspect. He is there to smite. Sometimes the anvil clangs, more mightily than musically. But there is precedent.
A stanza each from two poems somewhat intense will serve to show the character of much verse in Negro newspapers. The first is from verses entitled “Sympathy,” by Tilford Jones:
