G. Douglas Johnson; Crisis, March 1917

OH, black man, why do you northward roam and leave all the farmlands bare?
Is your house not war, tightly thatched from storm, and a larger replete your share?
And have you not schools fit with books and with tools, the steps of your young to guide?
Then–what do you seek in the North cold and bleak, ‘mid the whirl of its teeming tide? Continue reading →