Poetry quotes

Like a fawn from the arrow, startled and wild, A woman swept by us, bearing a child;

In her eye was the night of a settled despair, And her brow was o’ershaded with anguish and care.

She was nearing the river—in reaching the brink, She heeded no danger, she paused not to think;

For she is a mother⁠—her child is a slave⁠— And she’ll give him his freedom, or find him a grave!

It was a vision to haunt us, that innocent face— So pale in its aspect, so fair in its grace; As the tramp of the horse and the bay of the hound, With the fetters that gall, were trailing the ground!

With care we’ve adjusted balance and scale, Futile our efforts we’ve seen them fail;

Lighter than dust is the wealth of earth, Weighed in the scales with immortal worth.

Could we drag the sun from his golden car, To lay in this balance with ev’ry star, ’Twould darken the day and obscure the night— But the weight of the balance would still be light.

Oh! when ye pray for heathen lands, And plead for their dark shores,

Remember Slavery’s cruel hands Make heathens at your doors!

Yes! Ethiopia yet shall stretch Her bleeding hands abroad; Her cry of agony shall reach The burning throne of God,

And, your sin-cursed, guilty Union, Shall be shaken to its base, Till ye learn that simple justice, Is the right of every race.

Make me a grave where’er you will, In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill,

Make it among earth’s humblest graves, But not in a land where men are slaves.

I ask no monument, proud and high, To arrest the gaze of the passers by;

All that my yearning spirit craves, Is bury me not in a land of slaves.

Kind and gracious princess, more than friend, I’ve come to thank thee for thy goodness, And to breathe into thy generous ears My last and sad farewell.

Then Moses knew the sand had failed to keep His secret, that his life no more was safe In Goshen, and he fled unto the deserts Of Arabia and became a shepherd For the priest of Midian.

Men grow strong in action, but in solitude Their thoughts are ripened.

Like one who cuts away The bridge on which he has walked in safety To the other side, so Moses cut off all retreat To Pharaoh’s throne, and did choose the calling Most hateful to an Egyptian;

Her clinging was a thing of dread; Where’er she touched a fissure spread, And he who’d breasted many a storm Stood frowning there, a mangled form;

So Truth dropped in the silent earth, May seem a thing of little worth, Till, spreading round some mighty wrong, It saps its pillars proud and strong.

’Twas a fearful night—the tempest raved With loud and wrathful pride, The storm-king harnessed his lightning steeds, And rode on the raging tide.

Instead of orange-blossoms fair, Willow and cypress wreathed her hair. Though her mother’s kiss lay on her cheek, Her lips no answering love could speak, No air of life stirred in her breath, That fair young girl was the bride of death.

Thank God for little children, Bright flowers by earth’s wayside,

The dancing, joyous lifeboats Upon life’s stormy tide.

And left the palace of the King, Proud of her spotless name—

A woman who could bend to grief, But would not bow to shame.

The blue sky arching overhead, The green turf ’neath my daily tread, All glorified by freedom’s light, Grow fair and lovely to my sight.

And he often used to tell us, “Children, don’t forget to pray;

For the darkest time of morning Is just ’fore the break of day.

”

Our masters always tried to hide Book learning from our eyes;

Knowledge didn’t agree with slavery⁠— ’Twould make us all too wise.

But some of us would try to steal A little from the book, And put the words together, And learn by hook or crook.

My country and my home for thee, I freely, willingly resign,

Thy people shall my people be, Thy God he shall be mine.

Then, mother dear, entreat me not To turn from following thee; My heart is nerved to share thy lot, Whatever that may be.

He had no line to sound the depths Of her tears repressed and unshed;

Nor dreamed ’mid plenty a human heart Could be starving, but not for bread.

Within her eye was a restless light, And a yearning that never ceased, A longing to see the dear old home She had left in the distant East.

Oh, people sin-laden and guilty, So lusty and proud in your prime, The sharp sickles of God’s retribution Will gather your harvest of crime.

Weep not, oh my well-sheltered sisters, Weep not for the Negro alone, But weep for your sons who must gather The crops which their fathers have sown.

Go read on the tombstones of nations Of chieftains who masterful trod, The sentence which time has engraven, That they had forgotten their God.

’Tis the judgment of God that men reap The tares which in madness they sow,

Sorrow follows the footsteps of crime, And Sin is the consort of Woe.

“Build me a nation,” said the Lord. The distant nations heard the word, Build me a nation true and strong, Bar out the old world’s hate and wrong;

And their loved and white haired mother Smiled sweetly ’neath the touch, When she knew her faithful children Were loving her so much.

Say not the age is hard and cold⁠— I think it brave and grand;

When men of diverse sects and creeds Are clasping hand in hand.

Would you blame the world if it should press On him a civic crown; And see me struggling in the depth Then harshly press me down?

Crime has no sex and yet to-day I wear the brand of shame;

Whilst he amid the gay and proud Still bears an honored name.

Yes, blame me for my downward course, But oh! remember well, Within your homes you press the hand That led me down to hell.

I’m glad God’s ways are not our ways, He does not see as man;

Within His love I know there’s room For those whom others ban.

No golden weights can turn the scale Of justice in His sight;

And what is wrong in woman’s life In man’s cannot be right.

Onward to her destination, O’er the stream the Hannah sped, When a cry of consternation Smote and chilled our hearts with dread.

If not a sparrow falls to earth Unnoticed by His eye, Will He, our Father and our Friend Unheeded pass us by?

Shall we not learn from fading flowers⁠— Frail children of the dust⁠— To lay our cares before His throne, And in His mercy trust?

There’s not a care that weighs us down, Nor blinding tears that fall, Nor sorrow piercing to the heart But He beholds them all;

I was wild and very reckless When I stood on manhood’s brink, And, joining with pleasure-seekers Learned to revel and drink.

Strong drink is a raging demon, In his hands are shame and woe;

He mocketh the strength of the mighty And bringeth the strong man low.