APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

Today the spotlight shines on a poem written by Miss E. C. King.

THE FREED SOUL

From earth thy spirit hath flown,

Far beyond the etherial blue;

True the clods of the vale o'er thy body we cast,

But thy spirit the grave did eschew.

To the city of God it hath flown,

Where sin and disease never come,

Where sighing and death are no more,

For God is the light of that home.

There wilt thou dwell in the city of gold,

There by the clear-flowing river,

Where the life-giving tree its fruitage unfolds,

Thou shalt linger forever and ever.

By the great white throne thou shalt stand,

And shalt harp with the harpers in glory,

Whilst thy white-robed spirit triumphantly joins

in the new song, "Thous lamb we adore thee."

Thou shall chant on the ocean of glass,

Which is all intermingled with fire,

Most sweetly the praise of the Father and Son,

And thy hands shall awake the glad lyre.

 APRIL IS N

A. P. SMITH

BE UP AND DOING

Whatsoever the hands find to do, do with thy might, for there is no work nor device in the grave

whither thou goest."

Exceeding far the swiftest steed,

Unseen and silent, with them speed,

And fast as stars fleet through the sky,
The wings of time are passing by.

So onward rushes life along,

As brief as e'en a trifler's song,

Which, while 'tis heard, died on the air,

Which goes, but who can tell us where?

How swift the moments fly!

The years how few, before we die,

Before we merge into the gloom,

The darkness surging around the tomb!

Then, oh! be strong to serve the right,

Your arm nerved high with holy might;

And ever hence, while yet you may,

Stern duty's clarion voice obey.

Aye, do! for know there's no return

To do with trifler's now may spurn,

Although, perchance with anguish deep,

Neglected works the spirit weep.

 APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

Today the spotlight shines on a poem published in 1827, in the Freedom Journal, written by Africus.

Tears Of A Slave

Adieu, to my dear native shore,

'Fo toss on the boisterous wave;

To enjoy my kindred no more,

But to weep--the tears of a SLAVE!

By the sons of freeman I'm borne,

To the land of the free and brave;

From my wife and children I'm torn,

To weep--the sad tears of a SLAVE!

When I think of mother and friends,

And the joy their countenance gave;

Ah! how my sad bosom it rends;

While weeping--the tears of a SLAVE!

Ah! now I must labour for gold,

To pamper the pride of a knave;

Ah! now I am shackled and sold

To weep-the sad tears of a SLAVE!

Keen sorrow so presses my heart,

That often I sigh for my grave;

While feeling the lash'- cruel smart!

And weeping--the tears of a SLAVE!

Ye sons, of the free and the wise,

Your tender compassion I crave;

Alas! can your bosoms despise?

The pitiful tears of a SLAVE!

Can a land of Christians so pure!

Let demons of slavery rave!

Can the angel of mercy endure,

The pitiless--tears of a SLAVE!

Just Heaven, to thee I appeal;

Hast thou not the power to save?

In mercy thy power reveal,

And dry--the sad tears of a SLAVE!

APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

The first Southern African American to publish poetry. 

Born into Slavery in 1798 on the William Horton plantation. George Moses Horton taught himself how to read. Unable to write, George would compose poetry inside his head at an early age. In 1829, his poems were published in a collection entitled “The Hope of Liberty.” In which he hoped to raise enough funds to buy his freedom, however, was unsuccessful.

George Moses Horton would learn how to write years later, in 1832. His poems appeared in newspapers, and he would publish more books of poetry during his enslavement. Freedom came in 1865 when Union troops and the Emancipation proclamation reached North Carolina.

Today, I feature a poem from 1828 composed by George Moses Horton.

SLAVERY

When first my bosom glowed with hope,

I gaz’d as from a mountain top

On some delightful plain;

But oh! how transient was the scene —

It fled as though it had not been,

And all my hopes were vain.

How oft this tantalizing blaze

Has led me through deception’s maze;

My friend became my foe —

Then like a plaintive dove I mourn’d,

To bitter all my sweets were turn’d,

And tears began to flow.

Why was the dawning of my birth

Upon this vile accursed earth,

Which is but pain to me?

Oh! that my soul had winged its flight,

When first I saw the morning light,

To worlds of liberty!

Come melting Pity from afar

And break this vast, enormous bar

Between a wretch and thee;

Purchase a few shorts days of time,

And bid a vassal rise sublime

On wings of liberty.

Is it because my skin is black,

That thou should’st be so dull and slack,

And scorn to set me free?

Then let me hasten to the grave,

The only refuge for the slave,

Who mourns for liberty.

The wicked cease from trouble there;

No more I’d languish or despair —

The weary there can rest.

Oppression’s voice is heard no more,

Drudg’ry and pain, and toil are o’er.

Yes! there I shall be blest.  

  APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

An Astronomer, a Mathematician, an Inventor, an Essayist, a Farmer, a Naturalist, an Author, a Surveyor, and a Poet.

The Sable Genius was born in Maryland in 1731 to former slaves. He grew up on his family farm. Benjamin Banneker had little formal education. His grandmother taught him how to read and write. Benjamin Banneker’s knowledge of astronomy and mathematics came naturally, as he was self-taught.

His accomplishments include building the first wooden clock that gave the precise time for over 50 years until his death. Building an irrigation system for his family farm. Publishing almanacs, ephemeris, foretelling of solar eclipses, and helping to design The Nations Capital.

Without further ado, I present a math-problem poem crafted by the Brilliant Benjamin Banneker, which was published in one of his Almanacs.

THE PUZZLE OF THE HOUND AND THE HARE

When fleecy skies have Cloth'd the ground
With a white mantle all around
Then with a grey hound Snowy fair
In milk white fields we Cours'd a Hare
Just in the midst of a Champaign
We set her up, away she ran,
The Hound I think was from her then
Just Thirty leaps or three times ten
Oh it was pleasant to see
How the Hare did run so timorously
But yet so very Swift that I
Did think she did not run but Fly
When the Dog was almost at her heels
She quickly turn'd, and down the fields
She ran again with full Career
And 'gain she turn'd to the place she were
At every turn she gan'd of ground
As many yards as the greyhound
Could leap at thrice, and She did make,
Just Six, if I do not mistake
Four times She Leap'd for the dogs three
But two of the Dogs leaps did agree
With three of hers, nor pray declare
How many leaps he took to Catch the Hare.

(Answer)

Just Seventy two I did Suppose,
An Answer false from thence arose,
I doubled the Sum of Seventy two,
But still I found that would not do,
I mix'd the Numbers of them both,
Which Shew'd so plain that I'll make Oath,
Eight hundred leaps the Dog did make,
And Sixty four, the Hare to take.

 APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

A Poet, an Orator, and a Storyteller.

The first African American female to recite a poem. Born in Africa, in 1733. Kidnapped as an infant and enslaved in ameriKKKa. Lucy Terry was only 16 years of age when she recited her only surviving poem “Bars Fight.” which was orally recited until published in 1855. Enslaved until 1756, when a prosperous free black man named Obijah Prince purchased her freedom and married her.

Without further ado. I present Lucy Terry Prince’s renowned poem “Bars Fight.” Detailing the attacks that she witnessed.

BARS FIGHT

August 'twas, the twenty-fifth,

Seventeen hundred forty-six,

The Indians did an ambush lay,

Some very valient men to slay,

The names of whom I'll not leave out:

Samuel Allen like a hero fout,

And though he was so brave and bold,

His face no more shall we behold;

Eleazer Hawks was killed outright,

Before he had time to fight

Before he did the Indians see,

Was shot and killed immediately:

Oliver Amsden he was slain,

Which caused his friends much grief and pain;

Simeon Amsden that found dead,

Not many rods off from his head;

Adonijah Gillet, we do hear,

Did lose his life, which was so dear;

John Saddler fled across the water,

And so he escaped the dreadful slaughter;

Eunice Allen seen the Indians comeing,

And hoped to save herself by running,

And not her petticoats stopt her,

The awful creatures had not cotched her,

And tommyhawked her on the head,

And left her on the ground for dead;

Young Samuel Allen, oh! lack-a-day,

Was taken and carried to Canada.

APRIL IS NATIONAL POETRY MONTH!

An Essayist, Clerk, a Bookkeeper, an Orator, a Preacher.

One of the Founders of African American Literature. One of the First Black Published Poets.

Born into slavery on The Lloyd Manor Estate on October 17, 1711 in Long Island, New York, and remained a slave until his death.

Jupiter Hammon was allowed to receive an education through the Anglican Church’s Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts. Where he learned how to read and write. Jupiter Hammon’s first poem was published in 1760.

Without further ado, 260 years later! I present to you...

"An Evening Thought: Salvation by Christ, with Penitential Cries"

JUPITER HAMMON

Salvation comes by Jesus Christ alone,

The only Son of God;

Redemption now to every one,

That love his holy Word.

Dear Jesus we would fly to Thee,

And leave off every Sin,

Thy Tender Mercy well agree;

Salvation from our King;

Salvation comes now from the Lord,

Our victorious King.

His holy Name be well ador’d,

Salvation surely bring.

Dear Jesus give they Spirit now,

Thy Grace to every Nation,

That han’t the Lord to whom we bow,

The Author of Salvation.

Dear Jesus unto Thee we cry,

Give us the Preparation;

Turn not away thy tender Eye;

We seek thy true Salvation.

Salvation comes from God we know,

The true and only One;

It’s well agreed and certain true,

He gave his only Son.

Lord hear our penitential Cry:

Salvation from above;

It is the Lord that doth supply,

With his Redeeming Love.

Dear Jesus by thy precious Blood,

The World Redemption have:

Salvation now comes from the Lord,

He being thy captive slave.

Dear Jesus let the Nations cry,

And all the People say,

Salvation comes from Christ on high,

Haste on Tribunal Day.

We cry as Sinners to the Lord,

Salvation to obtain;

It is firmly fixt his holy Word,

Ye shall not cry in vain.

Dear Jesus unto Thee we cry,

And make our Lamentation:

O let our Prayers ascend on high;

We felt thy Salvation.

Lord turn our dark benighted Souls;

Give us a true Motion,

And let the Hearts of all the World,

Make Christ their Salvation.

Ten Thousand Angels cry to Thee,

Yea louder than the Ocean.

Thou art the Lord, we plainly see;

Thou art the true Salvation.

Now is the Day, excepted Time;

The Day of Salvation;

Increase your Faith, do no repine:

Awake ye every Nation.

Lord unto whom now shall we go,

Or see a safe Abode;

Thou hast the Word Salvation too

The only Son of God.

Ho! every one that hunger hath,

Or pineth after me,

Salvation be thy leading Staff,

To set the Sinner free.

Dear Jesus unto Thee we fly;

Depart, depart from Sin,

Salvation doth at length supply,

The Glory of our King.

Come ye Blessed of the Lord,

Salvation greatly given;

O turn your Hearts, accept the Word,

Your Souls are fit for Heaven.

Dear Jesus we now turn to Thee,

Salvation to obtain;

Our Hearts and Souls do meet again,

To magnify thy Name.

Come holy Spirit, Heavenly Dove,

The Object of our Care;

Salvation doth increase our Love;

Our Hearts hath felt thy fear.

Now Glory be to God on High,

Salvation high and low;

And thus the Soul on Christ rely,

To Heaven surely go.

Come Blessed Jesus, Heavenly Dove,

Accept Repentance here;

Salvation give, with tender Love;

Let us with Angels share.