Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Do you blame me that I loved him? If when standing all alone I cried for bread a careless world

Do you see this grain of sand Lying loosely in my hand? Do you know to me it brought

Only a little scrap of blue Preserved with loving care, But earth has not a brilliant hue

Oh, children of the tropics, Amid our pain and wrong Have you no other mission

The treacherous sands had caught our boat, And held it with a strong embrace And death at our imprisoned crew

You can sigh o'er the sad-eyed Armenian Who weeps in her desolate home. You can mourn o'er the exile of Russia

He stood before the sons of Heth, And bowed his sorrowing head; "I've come," he said, "to buy a place

Make me a grave where'er you will, In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill; Make it among earth's humblest graves,

Welcome children of the Spring, In your garbs of green and gold, Lifting up your sun-crowned heads

'Twas a fearful night - the tempest raved With loud and wrathful pride, The storm-king harnessed his lightning steeds,

Dedication Poem on the reception of the annex to the home for aged colored people, from the bequest of Mr. Edward T. Parker. Outcast from her home in Syria In the lonely, dreary wild;

Do not cheer, for men are dying From their distant homes in pain; And the restless sea is darkened

I had a dream, a varied dream: Before my ravished sight The city of my Lord arose,

Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord, And gather the bruised grain; But the reapers had left the stubble bare,

God bless our native land, Land of the newly free, Oh may she ever stand

She came from the East a fair, young bride, With a light and a bounding heart, To find in the distant West a home

The conies had their hiding-place, The wily fox with stealthy tread A covert found, but Christ, the Lord,

"It shall be a royal mansion, A fair and beautiful thing, It will be the presence-chamber

There was grief within our household Because of a vacant chair. Our mother, so loved and precious,

The dying words of Goethe. "Light! more light! the shadows deepen, And my life is ebbing low,

Maceo dead! a thrill of sorrow Through our hearts in sadness ran When we felt in one sad hour

Two little children sit by my side, I call them Lily and Daffodil; I gaze on them with a mother's pride,

My mother's kiss, my mother's kiss, I feel its impress now; As in the bright and happy days

It is nothing to me, the beauty said, With a careless toss of her pretty head; The man is weak if he can't refrain

Till our world, so sad and weary, Finds the balmy rest of peace - Peace to silence all her discords -

Onward to her destination, O'er the stream the Hannah sped, When a cry of consternation

The prison-house in which I live Is falling to decay, But God renews my spirit's strength,

Like Dives in the deeps of Hell I cannot break this fearful spell, Nor quench the fires I've madly nursed,

To comfort hearts that sigh and break, To dry the falling tear, Wilt thou forego the music sweet

Let me make the songs for the people, Songs for the old and young; Songs to stir like a battle-cry

Thank God for little children, Bright flowers by earth's wayside, The dancing, joyous lifeboats

"Build me a house," said the Master, "But not on the shifting sand, Mid the wreck and roar of tempests,

We may sigh o'er the heavy burdens Of the black, the brown and white; But if we all clasped hands together

They heard the South wind sighing A murmur of the rain; And they knew that Earth was longing

Life was trembling, faintly trembling On the bondman's latest breath, And he felt the chilling pressure

From Rome's palaces and villas Gaily issued forth a throng; From her humbler habitations

Year after year the artist wrought With earnest, loving care, The music flooding all his soul

"Tim Thompson, a little negro boy, was asked to dance for the amusement of some white toughs. He refused, saying he was a church member. One of the men knocked him down with a club and then danced upon his prostrate form. He then shot the boy in the hip. The boy is dead; his murderer is still at large." - News Item. He lifted up his pleading eyes,

Twas a night of dreadful horror, - Death was sweeping through the land; And the wings of dark destruction

Say not the age is hard and cold - I think it brave and grand; When men of diverse sects and creeds

They shall see Him in the crimson flush Of morning's early light, In the drapery of sunset,

He stood before my heart's closed door, And asked to enter in; But I had barred the passage o'er

Too frail to soar - a feeble thing - It fell to earth with fluttering wing; But God, who watches over all,

"Build me a nation," said the Lord. The distant nations heard the word, Build me a nation true and strong,

A rock, for ages, stern and high, Stood frowning 'gainst the earth and sky, And never bowed his haughty crest

She leaned her head upon her hand And heard the King's decree - "My lords are feasting in my halls;