Part 6

LULA JOHNSON'S SONG

Written in Quinn Chapel, A. M. E. Church, Ninth and Walnut Streets, Louisville, Ky., Wednesday evening, October 16th, 1907, while Miss Lula E. Johnson was singing "Ave Maria."

I have heard the mock-bird singing when the orchards were in bloom, And the sweetness of his music made the peacock don his plume; Ay! I've heard cock-robin-redbreast chirping on a sunny day, And the skylark soaring skywards, merrily sing his festal lay; And the brown thrush and the bluebird thrill their little treble notes; All the woodland songsters pouring songs of gladness from their throats-- But not one has touched so deeply, and not one has last so long As the ever ringing cadence of sweet Lula Johnson's song!

When the breeze has ceased to whisper and the night is soft and still, Save the awe-provoking shrilling of the ghastly whippoorwill, As the moonbeams pour down brightly on the woodland, hill and dale, I oft listen at my window to the queenly nightingale; But no song of merry woodland, neither hill, nor dale, nor dell, Has ever smote my bosom, nor has made my spirit swell, Like the soul-inspiring music that so softly glides along Oh! so softly and so gently in sweet Lula Johnson's song!

Oh! my soul has caught the music, as it softly floats along-- Ah! the soul-entrancing music of sweet Lula Johnson's song! If my feet shall ever falter, it shall cheer me on my way; Ay, sustain and give me comfort,--make my feeble spirit gay. All we need to have, my brothers, in our war of peace 'gainst strife, Is the cadence of sweet music sprinkled in to sweeten life; It will sweeten all our bitters, which now seem so very long, If we have it soft and gentle, as sweet Lula Johnson's song.

In the lonely hours of midnight, when fair Luna 'gins to pale, I have heard her songs a-ringing, floating softly on the gale. And I hope when dawns the morning, when I draw my fleeting breath, When my friends are gathered 'round me, and my eyes are closed in death-- Ere you throw the sods upon me, on my never-heaving breast, While my body's lying silent and my soul is seeking rest-- Then I'll wing straight home to glory, for the journey won't be long, On the spirit-wafting music of sweet Lula Johnson's song!

A TRIBUTE TO DUNBAR

The sweetest singer once thou wast, but art no more; An elf thou wast of what thou now shalt be, Where thou art in realms of that celestial shore; There thou shalt sing through all eternity. We, peerless bard, bewail thy loss And shed heart-broken tears, Though meekly thou hast borne thy cross And winged the flight of years!

Thrice blessed singer, wrapped in heavenly bliss, Of earth's poor souls thy fortune who can tell? Perchance thy splendid lot be solely this: To change thy lute with the angel Israfel! If so, then smite thy golden strings With fingers nimble, strong, Till all along fair heaven rings With cadence of thy song!

Thee tyrant earth once held, imprisoned soul, That suffered tortures of relentless strife, Fair heaven now holds within her sheltered fold, And gives thee robe and harp--eternal life! Grant him, O God, unfaltering breath To sing from heaven afar A song to cheer our souls in death-- The peerless Paul Dunbar!

WERE I A BIRD

Were I a bird free born to fly Aloof on two wee, downy wings, My canopy would be the sky When rosy morn its dawning springs.

Were I a bird I'd sweetly sing Earth's vesper song in tree-tops high, And chant the carol of the Spring To every weary passer by.

Were I a bird, the sweetest voice That human ear has ever heard,-- The mocking-bird would be my choice, For he's the sweetest singing bird!

Were I a bird my life would be In keeping with the Will divine-- I'd sing His carols full and free In spreading oak and cony pine!

Were I a bird through air I'd roam, Just flitting on the morning breeze, In search of summer's sunny dome, To live contentedly at ease.

Were I a bird I'd sing a tune For farmers seeking shady rest Beneath the spreading oak in June, In swinging boughs that rock my nest.

Were I a bird I'd scale the cliff When dawns the bleak December day, Far from the ice and snow I'd shift Until the fairest day in May!

Were I a bird, a mocking-bird, The King of birdie's singing sons, My music would fore'er be heard As I sweet sang to cheerless ones.

Were I a bird I'd seek my rest When jocund Day blows out his light; In boughs that hover o'er my nest I'd sweetly sing, "Good Night, Good Night!"

AN ODE TO ETHIOPIA

TO THE ASPIRING NEGRO YOUTH

After years of patient study and historical research, I have made the following deductions of parts played by the Ethiopian in the annals of history, under the caption, "An Ode to Ethiopia." It is true that questions will rise regarding the racial identity of some of my characters, in view of historical statements which place them with the Caucasian race; yet I firmly believe, were impartial history written, my claims would be justified. However, Time, the great Arbiter, will finally decide the equity of my claims.

Thou Sovran Queen of Afric's sunny strands, I smite my lyre to sing thy praise unsung; In strains far sweeter than seraphic bands, A lay deep in my bosom's core is sprung. Fair Queen, although my years as yet be young, Deep thoughts and musings of thy history old, Where odes and fiery epics long have hung, Live centuries in my immortal soul And strike sweet Lydian measures on my harp of gold.

Therefore, my song floats softly up to thee, Full soft as those sweet zephyrs of the spring, Of which it was and is and still must be, The sweetest of aeolian strains that ring! I breathe it on the soft sea winds which bring Their cooling treasures from the rolling deep; They 'fresh my brow and make my sad heart sing And ever lure my drowsy eyes from sleep, And bid thy vesper chorist strictest vigil keep.

III

Of all the nations that have trod the earth, In civil states or in the forest wild, Thou wast the first of real enlightened birth, Born in fair Egypt on the spreading Nile. In valleys fertile, sunny climates mild, Thou sternly taught the "chosen" Hebrew race-- Madonna sheltered with her Holy Child, Who came to plead man's all unworthy case, And drained His sacred heart, earth's vilest sin efface!

Long ere the Grecian oped his classic lids Or mould' true beauty with artistic hands, Thou reared upon thy plains the lofty pyramids, With sphinx and obelisks 'decked thy burning sands. Aye! Queen, thou then wast hailed in all the lands Long ere vain Babel 'fused the human tongue In dialects rude of wild barbaric bands; Thou soared to Wisdom's realm, her sceptre wrung, And reigned the wisest queen the nations all among.