Chapter 4

If they were able to-day to produce the articles in common use as boots, shoes, hats, cotton and woolen goods, made-up clothing and enterprises such as farming, mining, forging, carpentering, etc., negroes would find a ready sale in preference to all others, because of its being a race enterprise, doing what no other corporation does, giving employment to members of the race as tradesmen, and teaching others to become skilled workers. These enterprises should be started in the southern, northern and western states, where the negro population will warrant such an undertaking.

I would suggest "A School History of the Negro Race" to be placed in our public schools as a text book. The general tone of all the histories taught in our public schools points to the inferiority of the negro and the superiority of the white. It must be indeed a stimulus to any people to be able to refer to their ancestry as distinguished in deeds of valor, and particularly so to the colored people. With what eyes can the white child look upon the colored child and the colored child look upon himself, when they have completed the assigned course of United States history, and in it found not one word of credit, not one word of favorable comment for even one among the millions of his fore-parents who have lived through nearly three centuries of his country's history. In them he is credited with no heritage of valor, he is mentioned only as a slave, while true historical records prove him to have been among the bravest of soldiers and a faithful producer of the nation's wealth. Though then a slave to the government, the negro's was the first blood shed in its defence in those days when a foreign foe threatened its destruction. In each and all of the American wars the negro was faithful, yes, faithful in battle while members of his race were being lynched to death; faithful to a land not his own in points of rights and freedom, all and that after he had enriched with his own life's blood, shouldered his musket to defend, when all this was done, regarded him with renewed terms, Black, Negro.

Last but not least the negro needs a daily newspaper in every large city, managed and edited by members of the race.

Such papers are needed to deal with questions of state and reflect the thoughts of the social world, to enter the province of ethics and tread the domain of morals and to give their opinion on the varying phases of religious truths and pass judgment on matters of a political nature.

There are hidden wrongs perpetrated by the whites against the negro race that will never be brought to light until the race owns and controls its own daily newspapers which alone have the power to discover and enthrone truth, thus becoming a safe guide to all honest seekers of facts respecting the race whether from a moral, educational, political or religious field. To carry out the plans suggested, whether viewed from an intellectual, industrial, commercial, or editorial standpoint, the world must acknowledge that to-day the negro race has the men and women, who are true to their race and all that stands for negro progress.

HISTORICAL COMPOSITION

BY

ANNIE L. BURTON

It is only 132 years ago to-day that the British troops, who had occupied Boston, made a riding school of the Old South church, and otherwise sacrilegiously disported themselves, were persuaded to get out under the compulsion of the batteries set up on Dorchester Heights. But when the last company embarked for Halifax, it carried the last British flag ever unfurled by a military organization on Massachusetts soil. That was the end of foreign domination in Massachusetts. And by a happy coincidence this is the legendary anniversary of the birth of St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, whose memory has been an inspiration in the struggle of another race for Liberty.

A QUESTION OF ETHICS

New York, Dec. 17.--Andrew Carnegie declared yesterday in a speech on the negro question that the negroes are a blessing to America, and that their presence in the South makes this country impregnable and without need of a navy to defend itself.

"Suppose," said Mr. Carnegie, "Great Britain were to send her war fleets to America. It would amount to nothing. All that the President of the United States would have to do would be to say, 'Stop exporting cotton.' The war would be ended in four days, for England cannot do without our cotton.

"We don't need a navy; we are impregnable. Because we have 9,000,000 colored men anxious and willing to work we hold this strong position, and I am interested in the negro from this material standpoint, as well as from the more humane point of view."

MY FAVORITE POEMS

Verses

On a green slope, most fragrant with the Spring, One sweet, fair day I planted a red rose, That grew, beneath my tender nourishing, So tall, so riotous of bloom, that those Who passed the little valley where it grew Smiled at its beauty. All the air was sweet About it! Still I tended it, and knew That he would come, e'en as it grew complete.

And a day brought him! Up I led him, where In the warm sun my rose bloomed gloriously-- Smiling and saying, Lo, is it not fair? And all for thee--all thine! But he passed by Coldly, and answered, Rose? I see no rose,-- Leaving me standing in the barren vale Alone! alone! feeling the darkness close Deep o'er my heart, and all my being fail.

Then came one, gently, yet with eager tread, Begging one rose-bud--but my rose was dead.

Verses

The old, old Wind that whispers to old trees, Round the dark country when the sun has set, Goes murmuring still of unremembered seas And cities of the dead that men forget-- An old blind beggar-man, distained and gray, With ancient tales to tell, Mumbling of this and that upon his way, Strange song and muttered spell-- Neither to East or West, or South or North, His habitation lies, This roofless vagabond who wanders forth Aye under alien skies-- A gypsy of the air, he comes and goes Between the tall trees and the shadowed grass, And what he tells only the twilight knows ... The tall trees and the twilight hear him pass.

To him the Dead stretch forth their strengthless hands, He who campaigns in other climes than this, He who is free of the Unshapen Lands, The empty homes of Dis.

Verses

Out of the scattered fragments Of castles I built in the air I gathered enough together To fashion a cottage with care; Thoughtfully, slowly, I planned it, And little by little it grew-- Perfect in form and in substance, Because I designed it for you.

The castles that time has shattered Gleamed spotless and pearly white As they stood in the misty distance That borders the Land of Delight; Sleeping and waking I saw them Grow brighter and fairer each day; But, alas! at the touch of a finger They trembled and crumbled away!

Then out of the dust I gathered A bit of untarnished gold, And a gem unharmed by contact With stones of a baser mold; For sometimes a priceless jewel Gleams wondrously pure and fair From glittering paste foundations Of castles we see in the air.

So, I turned from the realms of fancy, As remote as the stars above, And into the land of the living I carried the jewel of love; The mansions of dazzling brightness Have crumbled away, it is true; But firm upon gold foundations Stands the cottage I built for you!

Verses

You do but jest, sir, and you jest not well. How could the hand be enemy of the arm, Or seed and sod be rivals? How could light Feel jealousy of heat, plant of the leaf, Or competition dwell 'twixt lip and smile? Are we not part and parcel of yourselves? Like strands in one great braid we intertwine And make the perfect whole. You could not be Unless we gave you birth: we are the soil From which you sprang, yet sterile were that soil Save as you planted. (Though in the Book we read One woman bore a child with no man's aid, We find no record of a man-child born Without the aid of woman! Fatherhood Is but a small achievement at the best, While motherhood is heaven and hell.) This ever-growing argument of sex Is most unseemly, and devoid of sense. Why waste more time in controversy, when There is not time enough for all of love, Our rightful occupation in this life? Why prate of our defects--of where we fail, When just the story of our worth would need Eternity for telling; and our best Development comes ever through your praise, As through our praise you reach your highest self? Oh! had you not been miser of your praise And let our virtues be their own reward, The old established order of the world Would never have been changed. Small blame is ours For this unsexing of ourselves, and worse Effeminizing of the male. We were Content, sir, till you starved us, heart and brain. All we have done, or wise or otherwise, Traced to the root, was done for love of you. Let us taboo all vain comparisons, And go forth as God meant us, hand in hand, Companions, mates and comrades evermore; Two parts of one divinely ordained whole.

Verses

A widow had two sons, And one knelt at her knees, And sought to give her joy And toiled to give her ease; He heard his country's call And longed to go, to die If God so willed, but saw Her tears and heard her sigh.

A widow had two sons, One filled her days with care And creased her brow and brought Her many a whitened hair His country called--he went. Nor thought to say good-by, And recklessly he fought, And died as heroes die.

A widow had two sons, One fell as heroes fall, And one remained and toiled, And gave to her his all. She watched "her hero's" grave In dismal days and fair, And told the world her love, Her heart was buried there.

Our Mission

In the legends of the Norsemen, Stories quaint and weird and wild, There's a strange and thrilling story, Of a mother and her child. And that child, so runs the story, In those quaint old Norsemen books, Fell one day from dangerous play ground, Dashed in pieces on the rocks; But with gentle hand that mother Gathered every tender part, Bore them gently, torn and bleeding, On her loving mother heart. And within her humble dwelling, Strong in faith and brave of soul, With her love-song low and tender Rocked and sang the fragments whole. Such the mission of the Christian, Taught by Christ so long ago; This the mark that bids us stay not, This the spirit each should know: Rent and torn by sin the race is, Heart from heart, and soul from soul; This our task with Christ's sweet love-song, Join, and heal, and make them whole.

--_Rev. E. M. Bartlett_

Verses

Lord over all! Whose power the sceptre swayed, Ere first Creation's wondrous form was framed, When by His will Divine all things were made; Then, King, Almighty was His name proclaimed.

When all shall cease--the universe be o'er, In awful greatness He alone will reign, Who was, Who is, and Who will evermore In glory most refulgent still remain.

Sole God! unequalled and beyond compare, Without division or associate; Without commencing date, or final year, Omnipotent He reigns in awful state.

He is my God! my living Savior He! My sheltering Rock in sad misfortune's hour! My standard, refuge, portion, still shall be, My lot's disposer when I seek His power.

Into His hands my spirit I consign Whilst wrapped in sleep, that I again may wake, And with my soul, my body I resign; The Lord's with me--no fears my soul can shake.

THE CREATION

BY

ANNIE L. BURTON

The earth, the firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, Were made by God's creative power Six thousand years ago or more. Man, too, was formed to till the ground; Birds, beasts, and fish to move around; The fish to swim, the birds to fly, And all to praise the Love most high. This world is round, wise men declare, And hung on nothing in the air. The moon around the earth doth run; The earth moves on its center, too; The earth and moon around the sun As wheels and tops and pulleys do. Water and land make up the whole, From East to West, from pole to pole. Vast mountains rear their lofty heads, Rivers roll down their sandy beds; And all join in one grand acclaim To praise the Lord's almighty name.

MY FAVORITE HYMNS

The Ninety and Nine

There were ninety and nine that safely lay In the shelter of the fold, But one was out on the hills away, Far-off from the gates of gold-- Away on the mountains lone and bare, Away from the tender Shepherd's care.

"Lord, Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine: Are they not enough for Thee?" But the Shepherd made answer: "This of mine Has wandered away from me, And, although the road be rough and steep, I go to the desert to find my sheep."

But none of the ransomed ever knew How deep were the waters crossed; Nor how dark was the night that the Lord passed through Ere he found His sheep that was lost. Out in the desert he heard the cry-- Sick and helpless, and ready to die.

"Lord, whence are those blood-drops all the way That mark out the mountain's track?" "They were shed for one who had gone astray Ere the Shepherd could bring him back." "Lord, whence are Thy hands so rent and torn?" "They are pierced tonight by many a thorn."

But all through the mountains, thunder-riven, And up from the rocky steep, There arose a glad cry to the height of heaven, "Rejoice! I have found my sheep!" And the angels echoed around the throne: "Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own!"

My Faith looks up to Thee

My faith looks up to Thee, Thou Lamb of Calvary, Saviour divine! Now hear me while I pray, Take all my guilt away, O, let me from this day Be wholly Thine.

May Thy rich grace impart Strength to my fainting heart, My zeal inspire; As Thou hast died for me, O, may my love to Thee Pure, warm, and changeless be, A living fire.

When ends life's transient dream, When death's cold, sullen stream Shall o'er me roll, Blest Saviour, then, in love, Fear and distrust remove; O, bear me safe above, A ransomed soul.

Jordan's Strand

My days are gliding swiftly by, And I, a pilgrim stranger, Would not detain them as they fly, Those hours of toil and danger.

_Chorus_

For, O we stand on Jordan's strand, Our friends are passing over; And, just before, the shining shore We may almost discover!

We'll gird our loins, my brethren dear, Our heavenly home discerning; Our absent Lord has left us word, "Let every lamp be burning."

Should coming days be cold and dark, We need not cease our singing; That perfect rest nought can molest, Where golden harps are ringing.

Let sorrow's rudest tempest blow, Each cord on earth to sever; Our King says, "Come!" and there's our home, Forever, O forever.

Over the Line

O tender and sweet was the Master's voice As he lovingly call'd to me, "Come over the line, it is only a step-- I am waiting my child, for thee."

_Refrain_

"Over the line," hear the sweet refrain, Angels are chanting the heavenly strain: "Over the line,"--Why should I remain With a step between me and Jesus?

But my sins are many, my faith is small, Lo! the answer came quick and clear; "Thou needest not trust in thyself at all, Step over the line, I am here."

But my flesh is weak, I tearfully said, And the way I cannot see; I fear if I try I may sadly fail, And thus may dishonor Thee.

Ah, the world is cold, and I cannot go back Press forward I surely must; I will place my hand in his wounded palm Step over the line, and trust.

O could I speak the Matchless Worth

O could I speak the matchless worth, O could I sound the glories forth, Which in my Saviour shine, I'd soar, and touch the heav'nly strings, And vie with Gabriel while he sings, In notes almost divine.

I'd sing the precious blood He spilt, My ransom from the dreadful guilt Of sin and wrath divine; I'd sing His glorious righteousness, In which all-perfect, heavenly dress My soul shall ever shine.

I'd sing the characters He bears, And all the forms of love He wears, Exalted on His throne; In loftiest songs of sweetest praise, I would to everlasting days Make all His glories known.

Well, the delightful day will come When my dear Lord will bring me home, And I shall see His face; Then with my Saviour, Brother, Friend, A blest eternity I'll spend, Triumphant in His grace.

O God, beneath Thy Guiding Hand

O God, beneath Thy guiding hand, Our exiled fathers cross'd the sea; And when they trod the wintry strand, With pray'r and psalm they worshipp'd Thee.

Thou heard'st, well pleased, the song, the prayer: Thy blessing came and still its power Shall onward through all ages bear The memory of that holy hour.

Laws, freedom, truth, and faith in God Came with those exiles o'er the waves; And where their pilgrim feet have trod, The God they trusted guards their graves.

And here Thy name, O God of love, Their children's children shall adore Till these eternal hills remove And spring adorns the earth no more.

America

My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrim's pride, From every mountain side Let freedom ring.

My native country, thee, Land of the noble free, Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet freedom's song; Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake, Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing; Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light; Protect us with Thy might, Great God our King.

In the Cross of Christ I Glory

In the cross of Christ I glory, Towering o'er the wrecks of time; All the light of sacred story Gathers round its head sublime.

When the woes of life o'ertake me, Hopes deceive and fears annoy, Never shall the cross forsake me: Lo! it glows with peace and joy.

When the sun of bliss is beaming Light and love upon my way, From the cross the radiance streaming, Add more luster to the day.

Bane and blessing, pain and pleasure, By the cross are sanctified; Peace is there that knows no measure, Joys that through all time abide.

Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah

Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah, Pilgrim thro' this barren land; I am weak, but Thou art mighty; Hold me with Thy pow'rful hand; Bread of heaven, Feed me till I want no more.

Open now the crystal fountain Whence the healing waters flow; Let the fiery, cloudy pillar Lead me all my journey through; Strong Deliverer, Be Thou still my strength and shield.

When I tread the verge of Jordan, Bid my anxious fears subside; Bear me through the swelling current, Land me safe on Canaan's side; Songs of praises I will ever give to Thee.

Christ receiveth Sinful Men

Sinners Jesus will receive; Sound this word of grace to all Who the heav'nly pathway leave, All who linger, all who fall.

_Chorus_

Sing it o'er and o'er again: Christ receiveth sinful men; Make the message clear and plain: Christ receiveth sinful men.

Come, and He will give you rest; Trust Him, for His word is plain; He will take the sinfulest; Christ receiveth sinful men.

Christ receiveth sinful men, Even me with all my sin; Purged from ev'ry spot and stain, Heav'n with Him I enter in.

Some Day the Silver Cord will break

Some day the silver cord will break, And I no more as now shall sing; But, O, the joy when I shall wake Within the palace of the King!

And I shall see Him face to face, And tell the story--Saved by grace.

Some day my earthly house will fall, I cannot tell how soon 'twill be, But this I know--my All in All Has now a place in heaven for me.

Some day; till then I'll watch and wait, My lamp all trimmed and burning bright, That when my Saviour ope's the gate. My soul to Him may take its flight.

Battle Hymn of the Republic

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loos'd the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword; His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence in the dim and flaring lamps; His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel, "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you My grace shall deal"; Let the hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel; Since God is marching on.

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never sound retreat, He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat; O, be swift, my soul, to answer Him, be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me; As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on.