Of ebony that hides the white within,
He gave no mandate for the dark abyss
Between us. Through the blackness of a skin
He sees the heart, He listens--He, the King!
And hurls no dolorous fiat for a doom
That makes pariahs of a people. Fling
Aside all thoughts of hate--dispel the gloom!
This heart, with yours, hears well the clarion call,
The silent flashes from divinity;
It longs to batter down the blinding wall
Of race--assured that each is spirit-free;
For He, whose hands are scarred, knows every smart
And bids us walk as brothers--not apart.
The Lyric
Fourth in MFCP Clinic Poems, Oct. 1952
