History of the American Negro in the Great World War: His Splendid Record in the Battle Zones of Europe; Including a Resume of His Past Services to his Country in the Wars of the Revolution, of 1812, the War of Rebellion, the Indian Wars on the Frontier, the Spanish-American War, and the Late Imbroglio With MexicoSweeney, William Allison
History
History of the American Negro in the Great World War: His Splendid Record in the Battle Zones of Europe; Including a Resume of His Past Services to his Country in the Wars of the Revolution, of 1812, the War of Rebellion, the Indian Wars on the Frontier, the Spanish-American War, and the Late Imbroglio With Mexico
Sweeney, William Allison
African American soldiers; African Americans -- History -- 1877-1964; World War, 1914-1918 -- Participation, African American
An ingrate?
Treacherous?
A violator?
When--oh, spectacle that moved the world!
For five bloody years
Of fratricidal strife--
Red days when brothers warred--
He fed the babe,
Shielded the mother.
Guarded the doorsill
Of a million southern homes?
Penniless when freedom came? Most true;
But his accumulations of fifty years
Could finance a group of principalities.
Homeless? Yes; but the cabin and the hut
Of Lincoln's day--uncover at that name!--
Are memories; the mansion of today,
Dowered with culture and refinement,
Sweetened by clean lives,
Is a fact.
Unlettered? Yes;
But the alumni of his schools,
Triumphant over the handicap
Of "previous condition,"
Are to be found the world over
In every assemblage inspired
By the democracy of letters.
In the casting up what appears?
The progeny of lust and helplessness,
He inherited a mottled soul--
"Damned spots" that biased the looker on.
Clothed a freeman,
Turned loose in the land
Creditless, without experience,
He often stumbled, the way being strange,
Sometimes fell.
Mocked, sneered at from every angle,
spurned, hindered in every section,
North, south, east, west,
Refused the most primitive rights,
His slightest mistakes
Made mountains of,
Hunted, burned, hanged,
The death rattle in his throat
Drowned by shouts and laughter
And--think of it!--
The glee of little children.
Still he pressed on, wrought,
Sowed, reaped, builded.
His smile ever ready,
His perplexed soul lighted
With the radiance
Of an unquenchable optimism,
God's presence visualized,
He has risen, step by step.
To the majesty of the home builder,
Useful citizen,
Student, teacher,
Unwavering patriot.
This of the Other Fellow.
What of you, his judges and his patrons?
If it has been your wont
In your treatment of him
Not to reflect,
Or to stand by in idle unconcern
While, panting on his belly,
Ambushed by booted ruffianism,
He lapped in sublime resignation
The bitter waters
Of unreasoning intolerance,
Has not the hour of his deliverance,
Of your escape from your "other selves"
Struck?
If you have erred,
Will you refuse to know it?
Has not the time arrived
To discriminate between
Those who lower
Those who raise him?
You are shamed by your abortions,
Your moral half growths
Who flee God's eye
And stain his green earth,
But you are not judged by yours;
Should he be judged by his?
In his special case--if so, why?
Is manhood a myth,
Womanhood a toy,
Integrity unbelievable,
Honor a chimera?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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