Where was the Negro on the Fourth of July?, p. 7
Dublin Core
Title
Where was the Negro on the Fourth of July?, p. 7
Description
"Where was the Negro on that day in ’76,
When the fearless patriots laid down the pen;
The document signed that before earth and heaven,
Proclaimed them to be forever free men?
Perhaps Black Sampson worked amid the wheat,
Swinging his scythe about each ripened head;
And Attucks had already fallen on a Boston street
Slain by soldiers in coats of red.
And Phyllis Wheatley, dark, demure, and sweet,
From whose bright intellect all darkness fled,
Wrote rapidly; her lifetime was so fleet.
The poetry all the world has read.
Where was the Negro when they framed the law?
Wrote down the tenet that Justice must not be segregated;
Envisioned a perfect government with awe,
And said that all men as equals are created?
Oh, he was toiling in the corn and cotton,
Or stripping with tired hands, the stalks of cane;
Enslaved, alone, despised, forgotten:
But bravely singing as he bore his pain.
Toiling amid conditions, foul and rotten;
Facing with prayer the sunshine and rain.
His master pled for liberty, the slave forgotten.
Onheard the brutal clank of his chain.
Where is the Negro when white men gather,
To talk about improving conditions everywhere:
And how to manage everything from crops to weather,
And lighten up the burdens that men bear?
Some walk the streets. Tired, hungry, worn with care;
Begging for jobs they will never receive,
Because of their color and the wave in their hair,
Given like dogs, what the white man may leave.
For whenever the white man speaks words that are fair,
About honor and justice and “let’s have a new deal,”
Just make up your mind, oh, Black Man, beware!
For most of these blessings you will not receive.
Where is the Negro now while on every hand.
Back and forth, around and around,
White enemies go striding throughout the land,
Hunting for ways to keep the Negro down?
You will find him twelve million strong,
Each like a soldier in his appointed place;
Fighting to right each and every wrong
Imposed upon his patient, long-suffering race,
In school or church, where’er he may belong.
In crowded press rooms, a busy place,
Fighting the battle with story and song,
This, then, shall be our declaration,
Throughout the days and years to come.
Before our God and all creation,
We’ll fight till the Negro’s rights are won!"
When the fearless patriots laid down the pen;
The document signed that before earth and heaven,
Proclaimed them to be forever free men?
Perhaps Black Sampson worked amid the wheat,
Swinging his scythe about each ripened head;
And Attucks had already fallen on a Boston street
Slain by soldiers in coats of red.
And Phyllis Wheatley, dark, demure, and sweet,
From whose bright intellect all darkness fled,
Wrote rapidly; her lifetime was so fleet.
The poetry all the world has read.
Where was the Negro when they framed the law?
Wrote down the tenet that Justice must not be segregated;
Envisioned a perfect government with awe,
And said that all men as equals are created?
Oh, he was toiling in the corn and cotton,
Or stripping with tired hands, the stalks of cane;
Enslaved, alone, despised, forgotten:
But bravely singing as he bore his pain.
Toiling amid conditions, foul and rotten;
Facing with prayer the sunshine and rain.
His master pled for liberty, the slave forgotten.
Onheard the brutal clank of his chain.
Where is the Negro when white men gather,
To talk about improving conditions everywhere:
And how to manage everything from crops to weather,
And lighten up the burdens that men bear?
Some walk the streets. Tired, hungry, worn with care;
Begging for jobs they will never receive,
Because of their color and the wave in their hair,
Given like dogs, what the white man may leave.
For whenever the white man speaks words that are fair,
About honor and justice and “let’s have a new deal,”
Just make up your mind, oh, Black Man, beware!
For most of these blessings you will not receive.
Where is the Negro now while on every hand.
Back and forth, around and around,
White enemies go striding throughout the land,
Hunting for ways to keep the Negro down?
You will find him twelve million strong,
Each like a soldier in his appointed place;
Fighting to right each and every wrong
Imposed upon his patient, long-suffering race,
In school or church, where’er he may belong.
In crowded press rooms, a busy place,
Fighting the battle with story and song,
This, then, shall be our declaration,
Throughout the days and years to come.
Before our God and all creation,
We’ll fight till the Negro’s rights are won!"
Creator
Julia Shanks
Publisher
Baltimore Afro-American
Date
1933-7-1
Collection
Citation
Julia Shanks, “Where was the Negro on the Fourth of July?, p. 7,” African American Fourth of July, accessed April 28, 2024, https://africanamerican4th.omeka.net/items/show/96.