"Thank God I'm Black."

"Thank God I'm Black."

I envy not the lily's grace,

I fancy not the pale moonbeam,

Not be it mine in [?] to trade

The glory of poetic theme,

The burning glow the tropies know,

Inspires to me the midnight dream.

I envy not the power and skill

That makes the white man we entral,

The tiger hath the art to kill

More than the tenant of the stall

The tortuous rack, thank God I'm black!

No white blood adds its bitter gall

Talk not to me of beauty's cheek,

The marble tinged with ruddy glow,

The blood bath mounted there to speak

Of the deep fires that burn below.

The lava's force that in its course,

Hath scorch'd and burn'd us in its flow

Black is the midnight vault of heaven,

The velvet canopy on high,

Where glow the mighty suns of [?]

Amid the calm of nature's sky;

Such, Africa, hath been thy day,

But darken'd clouds now round thee [?]

Ye daughters of my sunny land,

Still glory like your forest tree,

The bow of hope is ever spann'd

Where grows the darken'd ebony,

Type of the power whose iron hour

A[?] in vain thy destiny.

I see my tribes in native grace,

Unnumber'd [?]ll'd on thy shore

O Africa, what power shall trace

Thy glory when thy wrongs are o'er!

Through ages hid thy pyramid

Shall open up art's wondrous store

Thy Atlas from his shoulder heaves

The burden'd world,—no longer borne;

And so the forest casts its leaves,

Shall Slavery [?] shreds be torn.

And beauty's grace shall in its place

Bring forth the rose without its thorn.

I swear it, by thy golden sands.

Thy forest depths, thy lakes, thy plains.

To break the shackles from thy hands.

White life and thought this soul retains

Land of the [?] [?] work begun,

Shall deluge like thy autumn rains!

Aye, I [?] glorious thought

Inspires [?] pride!

And as a [?] [?] [?]

With death, [?] shall glide

Where'ere the foe exists [?]

Whose hand with thy best blood is dyed.

H

1:35, p. 4

3.29.1862