Where eager ebon-faced youth enters,
In the faint echoes lingering on southern winds,
We hear the pistol-shot of a long curling whip;
The soft swish of the fan a black boy swings monotonously
Keeping the flies from the dinner table in the Big House--
He mutely sings, "I'll walk all over God's Heaven;"
The mumbling of the exhausted slave in his sleep--
"Swing low, sweet Chariot"--swing low in mercy.
We see the burden-bearers--meek--in the Sunday churches
Listening to the praises of a God of love and justice--
"All God's Children Got a Heaven."
School doors are opening grudgingly--
"Swing low, sweet Chariot" till all doors open freely.
