A. Fay Jordan; Half-Century Magazine, July 1917

Go it, black boy, go it?
Oh, never hesitate;
You cannot be victorious
If you stand around and wait.

There are millions in the struggle,
They’ve set their hearts to win,
Spur your courage to the task
Oh, hasten, enter in!

There’s room on Fame’s fair ladder
For thousands more, ’tis true;
Most of the faces there are white,
But She keeps calling you.

There’s small credit for the boy of white
Who ascends the rugged steep,
He has money, plenty, at his back,
And money helps a heap.

But you, my noble boy of black,
You have no money at your back;
You must climb the ladder rung by rung
Until the weary task is done.

You must work in summer, even rain,
Thru fall and winter till spring comes again,
And ever, as you mount a rung,
God bless you, Ethiopia’s son.

Don’t let obstacles block your way,
Nor discouraging ones from day to day
Persuade you ever to turn back!
Cry: “Loose the throttle–clear the track!”

Then hurry! hurry! do not wait,
Go, buckle on the full breastplate;
He that fighteth to the end,
Success the Lord will surely send.

And when the weary journey’s done,
And you have reached the topmost rung,
We’ll write in blazoned words this song:
“Ethiopia has stretched her hand–and won!”

[This poem appears in two categories: Hope, Determination, and the Future and Injustices and Burdens.]