The Truth Suppressed
Why do people sit in darkness as regards the Negro race?
Why so ignorant are nations of conditions in the case?
'Tis because the facts are strangled by a prejudice intense,
Truth is murdered in the forum when she cries in his defence.
If a white man braves the tempest and takes up the Negro's cause,
Thus exposing to the country the injustice of its laws,
He is met with ostracism and consigned to deep disgrace,
He is branded as a traitor to himself and to his race.
Did you know that Sledd of Oxford, his professorship resigned,
When he gave the press an outline of how Negroes are maligned,
When the world he gave the story of their wrongs on ev'ry hand,
And rebuked his brother white man for supporting such a stand?
Have you heard the tale of Bassett's being taken up and tried,
By the trustees of his college and the public too, beside?
He evoked the shaft of censure such as mad men would decree,
Just for writing good opinions of a Negro, don't you see?
We esteem the two professors being natives of the South,
Who would follow their convictions in the face of censure's mouth,
At a risk of their positions, prizing justice more than gold,
Such a sacrifice we'll cherish till the night away has rolled.
Manhood now is at a premium that such risky things will do,
When the life is so endangered from a social point of view,
'Tis a milestone of advancement when a Bassett or a Sledd
Rises higher than surroundings, up above the critic's dread.
If the North its grief expresses, as it views the ill so rife,
It is promptly called a meddler, an engenderer of strife,
Then the politicians clamor, while the press takes up the song,
And the people join the chorus in denouncing such a wrong.
We are proud of sympathizers in the great unequal fight,
In the struggle for true manhood and for triumph of the right,
'Tis exposure maims the evils as they viciously unfold,
So his sufferings, unvarnished, by the Negro must be told.
Truth has perished as a martyr, in her grave she's laid to rest,
Though she never fails of rising when the Father thinketh best,
Soon there'!l be a resurrection and conditions 'twill expose,
That will bring the Negro's manhood in the midst of wicked foes.
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.
