Songs of Love and Rebellion/My mammy's son

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MY MAMMY'S SON


I don't wan to see him crushed, my dear old mammy's son,
The boy I played with long ago, whose "chinas" oft I won;
Who stood with me in many fights in the old plantation days;
Whose heart was true and loyal in a thousand different ways.

I don't want to see him crushed, his children made the prey
Of every wolf that howls along the Anglo-Saxon way;
Of every low-browed, heartless thing that bays him with the scream:
"I am the Anglo-Saxon and I am the white supreme!"

I don't want to see him crushed, his black face scarred with grief,
His sorrows made unending, or his pleasures few and brief;
For often I remember how he stood there at my side,
When the old home went to pieces, with a friendship true and tried.

I don't want to see him crushed, his life-work made in vain,
His misery the corner-stone of demagogic gain;
His degradation the excuse for Pharisees on high,
A refuge for the scoundrel and a cloak for every lie.

I don't want to see him crushed, nor made a nameless thing,
A chattel in the service of the menials of the king;
A slave unto the servants who attend the lords of gold,
Who are rottening the structure that the fathers built of old.

I don't want to see him crushed, my dear old mammy's son,
The boy I played with long ago, whose "chinas" oft I won;
And for his sake an Aryan pleads with Aryans to-day
To rise in Aryan manhood and drive the wolves away.