Epigram
To purify their wine some people bleed
A lamb into the barrel, and succeed;
No nostrum, planters say, is half so good
To make fine sugar, as a negro's blood.
Now lambs and negroes both are harmless things,
And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue springs.
'Tis in the blood of innocence alone--
Good cause why planters never try their own.
poem by William Cowper
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Related quotes
Sugar
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your baby boy
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your play toy
Got no time for every woman
Thinking that shes looking fine
Got no pockets full of money no no no
A fox would just be wasting her time
All I got is good good loving
And good loving doesnt have to find
Hey!
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your baby boy
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your play toy
Get it baby!
Ehhhhhhh
Mmmmmmmmhmmmm yeah
Got no need for fancy places
Got no need for cannon and wine
Got no need to move to the city no no no
Got no need to walk the line
All i need is good home cooking
And some sugar after supper time
Heeyy hey
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your baby boy
Sugar, Sugar
How I wanna be your play toy
Ohh sugar
Ohh sugar
Ooohhhooohhhooohhh sugar
Ohh sugar
Ohh sugar ...
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Bleed For Love
We bleed
As we close our eyes
This is our life
We live to die
We bleed
Sugar coated lullabies
Swim in sin
Drown in lies
We bleed
Kiss the sky
And gut America
Watch it bleed
We bleed
The musty smell of corporate
America the cancer causing
Air freshener companies
We bleed
Oil for blood
Blood for oil
9 11 all over again
We bleed
We cry
We live
We die
poem by Alisha Gonzales
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Gen. Banks has issued an order for the instruction of Negro children. Schoolhouses are to be built or rented and Teachers hired for this purpose, and the farmers and planters are to pay the Taxes in support of this.
quote by Knute Nelson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Must Be Freed
The ante-bellum Negro prayed,
For God to intercede,
And God in answer to him said,
'Your children shall be freed.'
The hand was seen upon the wall,
The fates at once decreed
That Negro bondsmen one and all,
Should soon be free, indeed.
'If Abraham Lincoln's president'
The South said, 'we'll secede;'
They apprehended he'd consent,
For Negroes to be freed.
To battle North against the South,
O'er states rights was agreed,
But echo from the cannon's mouth,
Said, 'Negroes must be freed.'
Confed'rates did with marked success,
McClellan's steps impede,
Till Abr'm Lincoln did confess,
That Negroes must be freed.
The Union boys with heaven's strength,
From that time did succeed;
And fought with valor till at length,
The Negro slaves were freed.
The Jim Crow car for Negroes made,
To crush their pride, indeed,
Has on the harps of thinkers played,
Those people must be freed.
The right of suffrage from the men,
Is taken out of greed;
A better day is coming when
They shall from this be freed.
Black men before the lyncher's rope,
In vain for mercy plead,
But justice cries, 'There is a hope,
From such you shall be freed.'
From ignorance and poverty,
From superstition's creed,
From those who crush his liberty,
The Negro must be freed.
The hand has written on the wall,
The clouds must all recede,
For God Whose word can never fall,
Says,'Negroes must be freed.'
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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The Peonage System
The religious wars of Europe have been numbered with the past,
But a worse thing, bright America with clouds has overcast,
'Tis the heinous contract system that plantation life contains,
Worse than slavery's conditions in a land where freedom reigns.
Negroes forced in one roomed cabins, mother's from their children torn
All the day till dark of evening from the dawn of early morn,
Sweet affection, thrift and neatness, all that perfect homes would bring,
Yea, humanity is buried at command of money's king.
Shall the future of the Negro by the white man be suppressed,
In his forcing from the present all that makes the future best?
Shall the training of the children be neglected? passing strange
Things material for the morals of the Negro they exchange.
Oft we find an overseer with a gun and club and whip,
Who at night within the stockade locks the Negroes, lest they skip,
If they offer a resistance for their treatment in this cage,
They are clubed into submission in the overseer's rage.
Some are kidnapped for the stockade, others taken there for debt,
Fed with only bread and water and for more they dare not fret,
They are worked like beasts of burden and the story here is told,
Of the sacrifice of manhood to a god that's made of gold!
'Tis an open, open secret how the white man without pain,
Sells the evil one his conscience out of greed for earthly gain,
Barbarism can't surpass it, races cannot lower fall,
'Mid this great enlightened country money's king rules over all.
If a farm hand makes an effort in the schooling of himself,
Or a mother will persist in looking up her little elf,
They must leave the old plantation for a more congenial clime,
'No enlightenment for Negroes,' planters say, ' 'tis loss of time.'
'Send to Africa the Negro,' they have talked of such you know,
Like to England's Irish question, planters cannot let him go,
Hear the planter loudly singing, this the chorus of the song:
'Keep the 'niggers,' all the 'niggers' in the field where they belong!'
Now he pleads for better treatment, why dehumanize a race?
On the farm he's proved his service and there's none to take his place,
None to stand the heat of summer in the making of the crop,
Whites are taught to need his labor and they cannot learn to stop.
Sad, indeed, to find a nation, bowing down to money's might,
Sacrificing all that's noble, all that's beautiful and right,
'Righteousness exalts a nation,' sin can only bring it shame,
Serve no other god, I warn you, in the God of heaven's name.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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The Negro Schools
Please be silent now, my country, while I fill the speaker's place;
While I point out some abuses that we constantly embrace,
Listen with your best attention to the words that I shall say,
How the Negro schools are managed, in this Commonwealth today.
All the officers are white men and together they conspire,
To undo the schools for Negroes, of such deeds they never tire;
Oft we find among the trustees men who cannot read a word,
But when speaking of the Negro, they are certain to be heard.
Education for the Negro they discourage, and they say,
'It will bring dissatisfaction to such people ev'ry day,
Make them crave for something higher, such as white men should enjoy,
Which will spoil the other Negroes that we have in our employ.'
Shorter terms are recommended many times as low as two
Are the months to Negroes given, in a year—now this is true,
Longer terms the whites are given in the same communities—
They conform to such a standard of the right with perfect ease.
Poorer pay to Negro teachers, driving good ones from the field,
Schools are let to lowest bidders to the same they're forced to yield,
Higher pay and better teachers for the white schools is the cry.
While encouragement is given Negro schools to starve and die.
Rural libraries established for the whites on ev'ry side,
But when application's made for Negro schools it is denied,
Thus they deal with education for the mass of Negro youth,
Posing still as great exponents and conservers of the truth.
From the sword of fierce Goliath we may all a lesson learn,
How while planning death to others on your head it may return,
In regard to schools for Negroes, cease their welfare to neglect,
For the same will come upon you in a way you least expect.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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Red Is The Blood
You are one who is born to lead
A very fine person indeed
And great things we hear of you and read
Though red is the blood we all bleed.
Your name is sir and your wife's name is dame
And you are not strangers to fame
And despite the title in your name
Your blood it is red just the same
As those in the poor side of town
Poor strangers to wealth and renown
The blood that flow through their heart to their head
Than your blood is no less a red.
You are a World renowned athlete
And the best of all Nations you've beat
You stride out so graceful and tall
Though your blood it is red after all.
The royal one wears a diamond crown
As in a horse drawn carriage she is driven through the town
But to live food and water she need
And red is the blood that she bleed.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Look What The Good People Done
They were drinkin his wine
They were usin his name
They were takin the time to take
His name in vain
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
They were havin their fun
Look what the good people done
Well, the good people say things that they
Dont really mean
They look so convincing cause theyre
So squeaky clean
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
Its a million to one
Look what the good people done
They (? put him on walkin down ? ), they said,
Lets go on with the show
And they pad him on whiskey and say, boy,
Youve got to go
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
Hes (? on the highway ? ) to none
Look what the good people done
All the newspaper men
They were lookin for names
Pulled him out of a hat
They needed someone to blame
Look what the good people done to him
Look what the good people done to him
He thought he was the one
Look what the good people done
Well, the good people say,
Keep your nose to the ground
Then theyll build you right up
Just to knock you right down
Look what the good people done to you
Look what the good people done to you
They were gettin their kicks
Look what the good people nixed
[spoken - here we go]
Look what the good people done to me
Look what the good people done to me
Look what the good people done to me
Look what the good people done to me
They were havin no fun
Look what the good people done
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prejudice
How strangely blind is prejudice, the Negro's greatest foe!
It never fails to see the wrong but naught of good can know.
'Tis blind to all that's lofty, yea, to truth it is opposed,
Degrading things will ope his eyes, while good will keep them closed.
How cruel, too, is prejudice! how wicked is the tongue!
The evils reign supremely there, the bad is ever sung;
With some the Negro needs a soul, with others he's a brute,
In silence those remaining live and naught of this dispute.
The schools it legislates against, in keeping Negroes down,
Whatever tends to elevate it meets it with a frown.
It gives to them the Jim Crow car and vessels on the sea;
It makes the stockade to exist and take their liberty.
It makes the press to vacillate up the Negro's name,
The pulpit makes a compromise with evil, for the same,
It makes the Pharaohs of today and seals them with its ban,
It strives to close the door of hope upon the Negro man.
It causes mobs to formulate, to come and go at will,
At morning, evening, noon or night, a Negro man to kill,
It brings injustice to the courts when Negro men are tried,
It wrings the ballot from their hands—a thousand wrongs beside.
It is the country's greatest curse, the nation's open sore,
It slowly saps the precious life, is poison to the core,
Such ravages gave certain death to nations in the past,
The same will lay this country low, its fondest hopes will blast.
It minimizes all that's good and magnifies the ill,
The devil's mission upon earth, it clamors to fulfill;
'Twas prejudice that caused the death of Christ upon the tree,
He knows the pangs that Negroes feel and gives them sympathy.
When men refuse to see the light a darkness is assured,
Such blindness comes upon the scene as never can be cured!
Contagious is the dread disease, for Negroes learn to view
The white man with suspicious eyes, but here's a thing that's new.
The Negro Problem of the land, and all the same entails,
Will be no more whene'er we find a sentiment prevails,
To bury prejudice so deep it never can arise
Till all the races of the earth shall meet above the skies.
Twas God who made the Negro black, the reasons are His own
One blood the nations all the same, the facts are too well known,
He also made the Golden Rule, to use the neighbor well,
Shall prejudice among us dwell forever? who can tell?
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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Abel Melveny
I bought every kind of machine that's known --
Grinders, shellers, planters, mowers,
Mills and rakes and ploughs and threshers --
And all of them stood in the rain and sun,
Getting rusted, warped and battered,
For I had no sheds to store them in,
And no use for most of them.
And toward the last, when I thought it over,
There by my window, growing clearer
About myself, as my pulse slowed down,
And looked at one of the mills I bought --
Which I didn't have the slightest need of,
As things turned out, and I never ran --
A fine machine, once brightly varnished,
And eager to do its work,
Now with its paint washed off --
I saw myself as a good machine
That Life had never used.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Lamb and the Wolf (Ballad)
I saw a lamb to wolf turn prey!
I saw it kill’d in gruesome way;
The lamb was rather small, I say;
I saw it frolicking that day;
It bleated while busy at play;
That day, its life, it had to pay;
And soon, I heard a plaintive cry;
The grass was smeared by lamb’s blood dry!
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”
The wolf was dressed in fine lamb-skin;
It killed by habit, kith and kin;
Like lamb, it spoke and went so near;
It acted friendly, allayed fear;
It took the lamb afar to play;
The lamb was foolish on that day;
It was so meek and frail, not bold;
It wished to see the far-off world.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”
The wolf then took the lamb away,
To steep a cliff with grass to play;
In moment’s time, it pushed it down;
The foul-play was almost half-done;
The lamb remained so very dazed;
That it was live, kept me amazed;
Before it could then recover,
The wolf made plans to devour.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”
The wolf noticed the lamb’s sad plight
And asked if it was quite alright;
It said, “I’ll take you to mother.”
The lamb believed the lie, brother!
It took it round and round and round;
There was no sign of flock on ground;
The lamb had gone really far;
Against the wolf, it could not war.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”
The lamb couldn’t walk any farther;
To pray to God, it didn’t bother;
It was so tired, hungry too;
It did not know what next to do;
The wolf then caught the lamb by throat;
The blood spilled down its white fur-coat;
The lamb was dead in moments split;
The wolf ate lamb and tried to sit;
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”
The wolf had feasted like a drill;
It ate with joy and had its fill;
It worked its way with pretty skill;
It left no trace of lamb on hill;
It was the poor lamb’s folly still.
The lamb had vanished from the rill;
It was too weak to fight by will;
The lamb had died a death cruel.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”
O shepherd good and experienced
With staff so long and strong and hooked;
If you had been awake and heard
The poor lamb’s cry, you could it saved;
If you had spotted wolf disguised,
One blow by staff you could have killed;
If you had watched with care, brother,
It would have stayed near its mother;
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”
Then good shepherd, “Why didn’t you come
To save lamb’s life from wolf’s welcome? ”
The little lamb didn’t know wolf’s scent;
It was too small and innocent;
Its legs were weak and could not run;
It thought that life was only fun;
If more alert had been shepherd,
The lamb needn’t go astray or erred.
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”
Had shepherd failed to act aright?
Had wolf deceived the lamb’s eye-sight?
Did not God know the lamb’s poor plight?
How could a lamb give wolf a fight?
Was it an act of destiny?
Was lamb to blame for mutiny?
Perhaps, the lamb was bound to die,
Allured by wolf’s broad day-light lie!
My good shepherd, “Did you not know? ”
My God, “Did You all this allow? ”
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-11-2007
poem by John Celes
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Sweet Sugar
(over importance of money)
Ive no time for boring things
Theres no religion
That can make my heart sing, no
They call me up
Say: hey come on down
Weve got credit salvation
All over town
And I can see it everywhere I go
I can hear it on my radio
They keep telling me its alright
But theres one thing
I dont need tonight
Is their sweet sugar, poison wine
I dont need these things
To make me feel fine
Sweet sugar, poison wine
Just need your love girl, every time
We dont need these
Pointless things
We just need to mend
Our broken wings
Take a look, a look
Whats going down
Weve gotta stop
Before we hit the ground
Yeah, we can have it
Dont you know
Take part in their tv show
Theyll keep telling us its alright
But theres one thing
I dont need tonight
You cant fool me
Its a waste of time
Youre selling tears
Down the credit card line, yeah
But giving up is not
Their frame of mind
Theyll find a way
To break us in time
Yeah, I can meet you
Everywhere I go
And I can hear you on my radio
You keep telling me its alright
But theres one thing
I dont need tonight
Is your sweet sugar, poison wine
I dont need these things
To make me feel fine
Sweet sugar, poison wine
I just need your love girl, every time
Sweet sugar, poison wine
I dont need these things
To make me feel fine
Sweet sugar, poison wine
Just gimme your love girl
Gimme your love, gimme your love
Sweet sugar, poison wine
I need your love girl
Yeah, all the time
Sweet sugar, poison wine
I just need you girl, everytime
song performed by by Uriah Heep
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh, For a Bowl of Fat Canary
Oh, for a bowl of fat Canary,
Rich Palermo, sparkling Sherry,
Some nectar else, from Juno's dairy;
Oh, these draughts would make us merry!
Oh, for a wench (I deal in faces,
And in other daintier things);
Tickled am I with her embraces,
Fine dancing in such fairy rings.
Oh, for a plump fat leg of mutton,
Veal, lamb, capon, pig, and coney;
None is happy but a glutton,
None an ass but who want money.
Wines indeed and girls are good,
But brave victuals feast the blood;
For wenches, wine, and lusty cheer,
Jove would leap down to surfeit here.
Nothing But the Blood
What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
For my pardon this I see -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
For my cleansing, this my plea -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Nothing can for sin atone -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
Naught of good that I have done -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
This is all my hope and peace -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
This is all my righteousness -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
CHORUS
Oh! precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
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The Southern Press
When a Negro comes in question you may watch the Southern press,
See how bias its opinions, how his ills are given stress,
Prominence is given headlines, when accused he is of crime,
Emphasizes all the evils of the Negro ev'ry time.
If a white man comes in question you may watch the press again,
How its dignity it loses in a compromise with sin,
Down in some secluded corner you the story may behold,
Where the public may not find it, sadly there the tale is told.
It condemns the sins of Negroes which in white men 'twill excuse,
If a Negro's crime is grievous here's the heading it will use:
'He's a candidate for lynching,' in a type that's bold and plain,
If a heinous crime's committed by a white man, 'he's insane.'
When the Negroes prove their manhood and their homes protection give,
They're pronounced as desperadoes and too desperate to live,
Nothing like its ever published of a white man, though his case
May be ten times more revolting and far deeper the disgrace.
At some public place if Negroes are mistreated by the whites,
When policemen won't arrest them or defend a Negro's rights,
Though the proof is overwhelming and the public ear it gains.
How conspicuous the silence that the Southern press maintains.
When a good is done by Negroes of the same you will not hear,
With their ills the press is busy and the good cannot appear,
Wrong, if found upon a Negro, will be charged up to the race,
But if white, with him 'tis ended, brings his people no disgrace.
See! the Southern press is bowing to a god that's made of gold!
And the populace is crying in a way that's passing bold,
'It must run to suit our fancy or the gold we'll take away!'
So the press can rise no higher than the common people say.
Humbleness will be exalted, exaltation be abased,
To the press it sounds a warning blest humility to taste.
Exaltation in a measure waves its banner over all,
But such pride will bring destruction, haughty spirits bring a fall.
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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A Brain
One thought is perfect in the brain,
We see its blood in a special way,
Its blood is good, very special.
We swerve our blood through the vessels,
And the capillaries, dooming them
As they descend and make us maybe bleed.
The brain is surely housing a diamond,
Rich and hard, the diamond is best.
We swap and learn different thoughts.
Surely the brain works certain wonders,
Like the beating of the blood
And the thinking of our sons.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Today... 'Our Passover Lamb
Blood from the lamb was on the lintel spread
and the people waited in fear and dread.
They could all hear the people outside cry
but the Angel of Death just passed them by.
Because a lamb had been slain and had died
and its blood upon the doorpost applied
Death did not visit them that dreadful day
but passed over them and went on its way.
**********
His life was given and His blood was shed
when He died that awful day in my stead.
The pure unspotted Lamb of God was He.
God saw the blood and then passed over me.
He gave His life to pay sins dreadful price
and offered Himself as a sacrifice.
Crying 'Father forgive' with His last breath
He snatched me from the very jaws of death.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Retribution
When Egypt said, 'Exterminate
The males among the Jews,
Fair Goshen's land make desolate
And bid them glad adieus:'
The darkest hour then was brought
Upon their slavery,
But God came down, with Egypt fought,
And made the bondsmen free.
No means of peace within the bout
Could pay the price—'tis plain—
The measure they had meted out
Was measured back again.
For blood of Hebrews had been spilt,
And justice did demand
Egyptian blood to cleanse the guilt—
The firstborn of the land!
America! how canst thou tell
Thy tale of bondage sore?
How blood as rain from Negroes fell,
Till many were no more!
The blood of Negroes cried so loud,
For vengeance from the ground,
Till clouds of sorrow wept and bowed
And heaven's anger frowned.
No peaceful means, 'tis understood,
Could end the dread affray;
For justice cried, 'Slave-owners' blood
In war the debt shall pay!'
The Negroes of the country now
Are held in open scorn,
To other peoples forced to bow,
Though often higher born.
To lynch a Negro is no crime,
The courts of justice say;
And so 'tis done at any time,
A mob may set a day.
The night is darkest near the dawn,
The voice of nature speaks;
The blood that's from the Negroes drawn
A retribution seeks.
'Revenge is mine, I will repay,'
The God of right declares.
The savage mob, with regal sway
A nation's curse prepares.
America! a warning take,
Repent! forsake the wrong!
Thine evil ways at once forsake,
Thy time cannot be long!
The morning star begins to rise,
The darkest night dispels,
Its ray of hope illumes the skies,
And precious dawn foretells.
America! rouse up! awake!
For God is living still,
Who will of wrong a sample make,
When sin has drunk its fill!
poem by Lizelia Augusta Jenkins Moorer
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Muddy
The rice planters
Are all muddy
Except their dreams
of rain and songs
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Saved
I was blinded by the devil,
Born already ruined,
Stone-cold dead
As I stepped out of the womb.
By his grace I have been touched,
By his word I have been healed,
By his hand Ive been delivered,
By his spirit Ive been sealed.
Ive been saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved,
Saved,
And Im so glad.
Yes, Im so glad,
Im so glad,
So glad,
I want to thank you, lord,
I just want to thank you, lord,
Thank you, lord.
By his truth I can be upright,
By his strength I do endure,
By his power Ive been lifted,
In his love I am secure.
He bought me with a price,
Freed me from the pit,
Full of emptiness and wrath
And the fire that burns in it.
Ive been saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved,
Saved,
And Im so glad.
Yes, Im so glad,
Im so glad,
So glad,
I want to thank you, lord,
I just want to thank you, lord,
Thank you, lord.
Nobody to rescue me,
Nobody would dare,
I was going down for the last time,
But by his mercy Ive been spared.
Not by works,
But by faith in him who called,
For so long Ive been hindered,
For so long Ive been stalled.
Ive been saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved
By the blood of the lamb,
Saved,
Saved,
And Im so glad.
Yes, Im so glad, Im so glad,
So glad, I want to thank you, lord,
I just want to thank you, lord,
Thank you, lord.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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