Category: Black History
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“A Dialogue, intitled, The Kind Master And The Dutiful Servant” by Jupiter Hammon
Master. Come my servant, follow me, According to thy place; And surely God will be with thee, And send the heav’nly grace. Servant. Dear Master, I will follow thee, According to thy word, And pray that God may be with me, And save thee in the Lord. Master. My Servant, lovely is the Lord, And…
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“A Poem for Children with Thoughts on Death” by Jupiter Hammon
I O Ye young and thoughtless youth, Come seek the living God, The scriptures are a sacred truth, Ye must believe the word. Eccl. xii. 1. II Tis God alone can make you wise, His wisdom’s from above,…
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“Thank God For Little Children” by Frances E. W. Harper
Thank God for little children, Bright flowers by earth’s wayside, The dancing, joyous lifeboats Upon life’s stormy tide. Thank God for little children; When our skies are cold and gray, They come as sunshine to our hearts,
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“An Address to Miss Phillis Wheatley” by Jupiter Hammon
I. O come you pious youth! adore The wisdom of thy God, In bringing thee from distant shore, To learn His holy word. Eccles. xii. II. Though mightst been left behind Amidst a dark abode; God’s tender mercy still combined, Thou hast the holy word. Psal. cxxv. 2, 3.
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“To S. M. A Young African Painter, On Seeing His Works” by Phillis Wheatley
TO show the lab’ring bosom’s deep intent, And thought in living characters to paint, When first thy pencil did those beauties give, And breathing figures learnt from thee to live, How did those prospects give my soul delight, A new creation rushing on my sight? Still, wond’rous youth! each noble path pursue, On deathless glories…
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“On Virtue” by Phillis Wheatley
O Thou bright jewel in my aim I strive To comprehend thee. Thine own words declare Wisdom is higher than a fool can reach. I cease to wonder, and no more attempt Thine height t’ explore, or fathom thy profound. But, O my soul, sink not into despair, Virtue is near thee, and with gentle…
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“A Rebus” by Phillis Wheatley
I. A bird delicious to the taste, On which an army once did feast, Sent by an hand unseen; A creature of the horned race, Which Britain’s royal standards grace; A gem of vivid green; II. A town of gaiety and sport, Where beaux and beauteous nymphs resort,
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“An Hymn to Evening” by Phillis Wheatley
SOON as the sun forsook the eastern main The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain; Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing, Exhales the incense of the blooming spring. Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes, And through the air their mingled music floats. Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies are spread! But…
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