Another singer, coming out of the Black Belt of the lower South, records the daily and life-long history of his people in these lines:
IT’S ALL THROUGH LIFE
A day of joy, a week of pain,
A sunny day, a week of rain;
A clay of peace, a year of strife;
But cling to Him, it’s all through life.
An hour of joy, a day of fears,
An hour of smiles, a day of tears;
An hour of gain, a day of strife,
Press on, press on, it’s all through life.
In the poetry which the Negro is producing to-day there is a challenge to the world. His race has been deeply stirred by recent events; its reaction has been mighty. The challenge, spoken by one, but for the race, the inarticulate millions as well as the cultured few, comes thus:
TO AMERICA
How would you have us—as we are,
Or sinking ’neath the load we bear?
Our eyes fixed forward on a star?
Or gazing empty at despair?
