Roscoe C. Jamison; Crisis, September 1917
These truly are the Brave,
These men who cast aside
Old memories, to walk the blood-stained pave
Of Sacrifice, joining the solemn tide
That moves away, to suffer and to die
For Freedom–when their own is yet denied! Continue reading
Edna Perry Booth (white), 814 Prospect Place, Brooklyn, N.Y.; Chicago Defender, March 16, 1918
They were calling for men; more men to enlist;
More food for the cannon; more boys to be missed
When the carnage was over. the whites thought it fine,
But the brave ladies were first in line.
The skeptical laughed and said when they knew,
“They know naught of fighting; now what can they do!” Continue reading
C.O.H. Thoras [?], D.C., L.L.B; Baltimore Afro-American Ledger, October 26, 1906
Tune–America
Great God of Nations, we Have met to offer thee Our chant of praise. Of mercies past we sing Our present sorrows bring, And thy sure promises We ask--fulfill. Bless the race of wailing, Who to Thee are praying, Where 'ere they dwell. Continue reading
John W. Gross Jr.; Baltimore Afro-American Ledger, August 10, 1907
Among the saying of our race, Suggestive and surprising; That fill a most exalted place, Is "tell them we are rising." Continue reading
H. M. Leamon (Hagerstown, Md.); Baltimore Afro-American Ledger, January 25, 1902
Fear not, yea sons of Africa,
To ride on Jim Crow Cars,
The kind of cars we ride upon
Does not decide life’s bars. Continue reading
[Washington Star]; Baltimore Afro-American Ledger, July 11, 1903
Children at the circus, Children in the street; Children in their tattered clothes And children fine and neat. Continue reading
no author; Chicago Defender, October 24, 1914
Stand up! Be counted, O men of the race. The voice of wisdom calleth thee. Continue reading
Bismark Hancock; Chicago Defender, February 22, 1913
One of the worst things I discover ‘mongst de people of my race
Is dey way dey tries to ‘ny each other,
When dey meet you out some place.
Now ef yous is white as snow,
And ef yous got all kinds of dough,
Ef yous has got long, straight hair,
And de finest clothes you wear,
If any Negro blood dey find,
White folks say you ain’t der kind.
An’ you might as well own your name,
Kase yous colored just dey same.
You’s mad when colored move next door,
Just cause you think dat you is white.
You neber peak to dem no mo’
Dan if dey wasn’t in sight,
You talk so soft no one can hear,
An ef a black man should appear,
You hut your door in his face,
Shut out all the Negro race,
But we all know you, honey,
You can’t hide blood with money,
‘Cose we know you ain’t to blame,
But you’s colored just do same.
Being white, you see, ain’t all
Neither in friends or relations.
You can come with all your gall,
But must hab de qualifications.
‘Tain’t no use to hold your head so high.
Might as well speak as you pass by,
We all knows you tries to be white.
White folks on equality,
Powder and paint don’t hide from view
The kind of black we know’s in in you.
Own up, honey, you’s not to blame,
But you’s colored just the same.
James D. Corrothers; Crisis, January 1915
One does such work as one will not, And well each knows the right; Though the white storm howls, or the sun is hot, The black must serve the white. Continue reading
Ralph Rankin Murray (Intelligencer, Lancaster, Pa.); African-American, July 8, 1916
Ah! it’s “niggers” on the street,
When you face the rapid-fire guns all alone–
Yes! they do you honor then,
You’re the tithe of mounted men,
And you’re the heroes when the fightin’ has been done;
But you’re not the army’s “crack,”
‘Cause your skin is brown and black–
And you face the rapid-fire guns all alone.
How the people cheer and shout,
How they bow and turn about,
When the troop is torn and riddled by the shell;
Then they open up the ranks,
And they send their puny thanks
When you’re rode into the mouth of living hell;
But your troop is not the “crack”
‘Cause your skin is brown and black–
And you ride amid the deathly shot and shell.
Yes! it’s “please to go away,”
And it’s “come some other day,”
And it’s only “cold black niggers” when you’re home.
Ah! but when it’s time to fight,
Then your tarnished souls are white
And the meager lauding honors start to come;
But your troop is not the “crack”
‘Cause your skin is brown and black–
And it’s only “coal-black niggers” when you’re home.
You were Johnnie on the spot
When the Cuban fire was hot,
And they praise you when you’re dyin’–noble Tenth;
When you have to face the guns,
then you’re Uncle Sammy’s sons,
And they only praise your fightin’ brutal strength;
And your troop is not the “crack”
‘Cause your skin is brown and black–
But they praise you when you’re dyin’–noble Tenth.
