Tag: african-american

Songs for the People

by Ellen Watkins Harper

Photograph of Frances Ellen Watkins Harper in 1893 as featured in the publication “Women of Distinction: Remarkable in Works and Invincible in Character by Lawson Andrew Scruggs (Raleigh) / State Library of North Carolina, Government & Heritage Library

Listen to “Songs for the People” by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper / Read by Teyuna Darris (on YouTube)

Let me make the songs for the people,
Songs for the old and young;
Songs to stir like a battle-cry
Wherever they are sung.
Not for the clashing of sabres,
For carnage nor for strife;
But songs to thrill the hearts of men
With more abundant life.
Let me make the songs for the weary,
Amid life’s fever and fret,
Till hearts shall relax their tension,
And careworn brows forget.
Let me sing for little children,
Before their footsteps stray,
Sweet anthems of love and duty,
To float o’er life’s highway.
I would sing for the poor and aged,
When shadows dim their sight;
Of the bright and restful mansions,
Where there shall be no night.
Our world, so worn and weary,
Needs music, pure and strong,
To hush the jangle and discords
Of sorrow, pain, and wrong.
Music to soothe all its sorrow,
Till war and crime shall cease;
And the hearts of men grown tender
Girdle the world with peace.

Tags African American poet, african-american, African-American Literature, African-American Poetry, America, American poetry, art, Arts, Literature, poem, poems, poet, Poetry, Victorian Era, women poets

19th century 20th century African-American Paul Laurence Dunbar Poetry

In Summer

Young man in the nineteenth century standing and posing for the camera, and wearing a suit with glasses. — Ohio History Connection AL00514, P 70 from the Paul Laurence Dunbar Collection.

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Oh, summer has clothed the earth
In a cloak from the loom of the sun!
And a mantle, too, of the skies’ soft blue,
And a belt where the rivers run.

And now for the kiss of the wind,
And the touch of the air’s soft hands,
With the rest from strife and the heat of life,
With the freedom of lakes and lands.

I envy the farmer’s boy
Who sings as he follows the plow;
While the shining green of the young blades lean
To the breezes that cool his brow.

He sings to the dewy morn,
No thought of another’s ear;
But the song he sings is a chant for kings
And the whole wide world to hear.

He sings of the joys of life,
Of the pleasures of work and rest,
From an o’erfull heart, without aim or art;
‘T is a song of the merriest.

O ye who toil in the town,
And ye who moil in the mart,
Hear the artless song, and your faith made strong
Shall renew your joy of heart.

Oh, poor were the worth of the world
If never a song were heard,—
If the sting of grief had no relief,
And never a heart were stirred.

So, long as the streams run down,
And as long as the robins trill,
Let us taunt old Care with a merry air,
And sing in the face of ill.

*From The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar (1913)

Tags african american literature, African American poet, african-american, African-American Poetry, America, American Literature, American poetry, Arts, Literature, poem, poet, Poetry, Victorian Era

20th century American American Poetry Black History English General Harlem Renaissance Langston Hughes Literature modern poetry Poetry Uncategorized United States

“My People” by Langston Hughes

Post author By TDarris
Post date November 6, 2021
No Comments on “My People” by Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes in 1936 by Carl Van Vechten

My People

The night is beautiful,

So the faces of my people.

The stars are beautiful,
So the eyes of my people.

Beautiful, also, is the sun.
Beautiful, also, are the souls of my people.

20th century African-American America American American Poetry Black History General Langston Hughes modern poetry Poetry Uncategorized United States

“When Sue Wears Red”

by Langston Hughes

Portrait of Langston Hughes. Photo by Gordon Parks / Library of Congress.

When Susanna Jones wears red
Her face is like an ancient cameo
Turned brown by the ages.

Come with a blast of trumpets,
Jesus!

When Susanna Jones wears red
A queen from some time-dead Egyptian night
Walks once again.

Blow trumpets, Jesus!

And the beauty of Susanna Jones in red
Burns in my heart a love-fire sharp like pain.

Sweet silver trumpets,
Jesus!

Poetry Uncategorized

This Life is a Good Life

This Life is a Good Life by Teyuna T. Darris

African-American American Black History British Poetry Paul Laurence Dunbar

“Ships That Pass In The Night” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Post author By TDarris
Post date August 9, 2015
No Comments on “Ships That Pass In The Night” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Out in the sky the great dark clouds are massing;

I look far out into the pregnant night,

Where I can hear a solemn booming gun

And catch the gleaming of a random light,

That tells me that the ship I seek is passing, passing.

My tearful eyes my soul’s deep hurt are glassing;

For I would hail and check that ship of ships.

I stretch my hands imploring, cry aloud,

My voice falls dead a foot from mine own lips,

And but its ghost doth reach that vessel, passing, passing.

O Earth, O Sky, O Ocean, both surpassing,

O heart of mine, O soul that dreads the dark!

Is there no hope for me? Is there no way

That I may sight and check that speeding bark

Which out of sight and sound is passing, passing?

African-American American American Poetry Belief Christian Christianity Faith Frances E. W. Harper Religion and Spirituality United Kingodm

“A Grain of Sand” by Frances E. W. Harper

Post author By TDarris
Post date August 4, 2015
No Comments on “A Grain of Sand” by Frances E. W. Harper

Do you see this grain of sand
Lying loosely in my hand?
Do you know to me it brought
Just a simple loving thought?
When one gazes night by night
On the glorious stars of light,
Oh how little seems the span
Measured round the life of man.

Oh! how fleeting are his years
With their smiles and their tears;
Can it be that God does care
For such atoms as we are?
Then outspake this grain of sand
‘I was fashioned by His hand
In the star lit realms of space
I was made to have a place.

‘Should the ocean flood the world,
Were its mountains ‘gainst me hurled
All the force they could employ
Wouldn’t a single grain destroy;
And if I, a thing so light,
Have a place within His sight;
You are linked unto his throne
Cannot live nor die alone.

In the everlasting arms
Mid life’s dangers and alarms
Let calm trust your spirit fill;
Know He’s God, and then be still.’
Trustingly I raised my head
Hearing what the atom said;
Knowing man is greater far
Than the brightest sun or star.

African-American American American Poetry Black History

“Church Building” by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Post author By TDarris
Post date August 3, 2015
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Uncle Jacob often told us,
Since freedom blessed our race
We ought all to come together
And build a meeting place.

So we pinched, and scraped, and spared,
A little here and there:
Though our wages was but scanty,
The church did get a share.

And, when the house was finished,
Uncle Jacob came to pray;
He was looking mighty feeble,
And his head was awful gray.

But his voice rang like a trumpet;
His eyes looked bright and young;
And it seemed a mighty power
Was resting on his tongue.

And he gave us all his blessing –
‘Twas parting words he said,
For soon we got the message
The dear old man was dead.

But I believe he’s in the kingdom,
For when we shook his hand
He said, ‘Children, you must meet me
Right in the promised land;

‘For when I done a moiling
And toiling here below,
Through the gate into the city
Straightway I hope to go.’

Tags 19th century, 20th century, african american history, African American poet, african-american, African-American Poetry, America, american, american poet, American poetry, american slavery, art, Arts, Black, Black History, Black Poet, Black Poetry

Uncategorized

“Night of Love” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Post author By TDarris
Post date August 2, 2015
No Comments on “Night of Love” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

The moon has left the sky, love,

The stars are hiding now,

And frowning on the world, love,

Night bares her sable brow.

The snow is on the ground, love,

And cold and keen the air is.

I’m singing here to you, love;

You’re dreaming there in Paris.

But this is Nature’s law, love,

Though just it may not seem,

That men should wake to sing, love;

While maidens sleep and dream.

Them care may not molest, love,

Nor stir them from their slumbers,

Though midnight find the swain, love.

Still halting o’er his numbers.

I watch the rosy dawn, love,

Come stealing up the east,

While all things round rejoice, love,

That Night her reign has ceased.

The lark will soon be heard, love,

And on his way be winging;

When Nature’s poets, wake, love,

Why should a man be singing?

18th Century African-American American American Poetry Frances E. W. Harper

“Blessed Hope” by France E.W. Harper

Post author By TDarris
Post date August 1, 2015
No Comments on “Blessed Hope” by France E.W. Harper

Oh! crush it not, that hope so blest,

Which cheers the fainting heart,

And points it to the coming rest,

Where sorrow has no part.

Tear from my heart each worldly prop,

Unbind each earthly string,

But to this blest and glorious hope,

Oh! let my spirit cling.

It cheer’d amid the days of old,

Each holy patriarch’s breast;

It was an anchor to their souls,

Upon it let me rest.

When wandering in dens and caves,

In sheep and goat skins dress’d,

A peel’d and scatter’d people learned

To know this hope was blest.

Help me, amid this world of strife,

To long for Christ to reign,

That when He brings the crown of life,

I may that crown obtain

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