Alexander W. Curtis Jr. (Chicago); Indianapolis Freeman, March 9, 1901

In that dreadful, cursed Sunflower State,
A Negro met an undeserving fate,
By the hands of a cowardly, cut-throat band,
Who desires to exterminate the Negroes in this land.

Doubtless the Warden, sheriff, and some other few,
Had concocted a plan, and they all knew.
That the end of poor Fred’s career was near,
But they didn’t care–they had nothing to fear.

He was dragged by those friends to meet his doom,
To burn, and burn until consumed,
By the fire that destroyed that mortal frame,
Of the Negro, Fred Alexander by name.

His dear old mother was standing near,
As he pleaded with the mob, but they wouldn’t hear;
He begged to bid his friends good bye,
For his doom was sealed, and he knew he must die.

They laughed with glee, as the flames leaped high,
But no one in the crowd that was standing by
Paused to think of that dreadful crime,
That would be recorded on the Book of time!

Swiftly his life was ebbing away,
For the hand of death had seized his prey,
At last with a sigh he yielded up the ghost,
Went to face the God who loves us most.

As I sit and think of that awful deed,
Which by our God was ne’er decreed,
I wonder what our race has done,
To be constantly lynched one by one.

But, alas, there is one thought that comes to me,
That there is a land where we can be free,
Surrounded by angels, peace and love,
In that great beyond, the Heaven above!

[This poem is in two categories: “God and Christ” and “Lynching and Legal Lynching”