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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420631" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Song Of The Negro Boatman</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come<br>To set de people free;<br>An' massa tink it day ob doom,<br>An' we ob jubilee.<br>De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves<br>He jus' as 'trong as den;<br>He say de word: we las' night slaves;<br>To-day, de Lord's freemen.<br>De yam will grow, de cotton blow,<br>We'll hab de rice an' corn;<br>Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear<br>De driver blow his horn!<br>Ole massa on he trabbels gone;<br>He leaf de land behind:<br>De Lord's breff blow him furder on,<br>Like corn-shuck in de wind.<br>We own de hoe, we own de plough,<br>We own de hands dat hold;<br>We sell de pig, we sell de cow,<br>But nebber chile be sold.<br>De yam will grow, de cotton blow,<br>We'll hab de rice an' corn;<br>Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear<br>De driver blow his horn!<br>We pray de Lord: he gib us signs<br>Dat some clay we be free;<br>De norf-wind tell it to de pines,<br>De wild-duck to de sea;<br>We tink it when de church-bell ring,<br>We dream it in de dream;<br>De rice-bird mean it when he sing,<br>De eagle when he scream.<br>De yam will grow, de cotton blow,<br>We'll hab de rice an' corn:<br>Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear<br>De driver blow his horn!<br>We know de promise nebber fail,<br>An' nebber lie de word;<br>So like de 'postles in de jail,<br>We waited for de Lord<br>An' now he open ebery door,<br>An' trow away de key;<br>He tink we lub him so before,<br>We lub him better free.<br>De yam will grow, de cotton blow,<br>He'll gib de rice an' corn;<br>Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear<br>De driver blow his horn!<br>So sing our dusky gondoliers;<br>And with a secret pain,<br>And smiles that seem akin to tears,<br>We hear the wild refrain.<br>We dare not share the negro's trust,<br>Nor yet his hope deny;<br>We only know that God is just,<br>And every wrong shall die.<br>Rude seems the song; each swarthy face,<br>Flame-lighted, ruder still:<br>We start to think that hapless race<br>Must shape our good or ill;<br>That laws of changeless justice bind<br>Oppressor with oppressed;<br>And, close as sin and suffering joined,<br>We march to Fate abreast.<br>Sing on, poor hearts! your chant shall be<br>Our sign of blight or bloom,<br>The Vala-song of Liberty,<br>Or death-rune of our doom!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=John+Greenleaf+Whittier">John Greenleaf Whittier</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=420631" data-title="Song Of The Negro Boatman de John Greenleaf Whittier" data-description="Oh, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An' massa tink it day ob doom,
An' we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves
He jus' as 'trong as den;
He say de word: we las' night slaves;
To-day, de Lord's freemen.
De yam will..."></div>
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