Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Poems

Uncle Jacob often told us,
Since freedom blessed our race
We ought all to come together
And build a meeting place.
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You can sigh o'er the sad-eyed Armenian
Who weeps in her desolate home.
You can mourn o'er the exile of Russia
From kindred and friends doomed to roam.
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When the frost-king clothed the forests
In a flood of gorgeous dyes,
Death called little dark-browed Martha
To her mansion in the skies.
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Sweet star, of seraph brightness,
That for a transient day
Shed o'er our souls such lightness,
And then withdrew the ray!
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Do not cheer, for men are dying
From their distant homes in pain;
And the restless sea is darkened
By a flood of crimson rain.
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Only a little scrap of blue
Preserved with loving care,
But earth has not a brilliant hue
To me more bright and fair.
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Welcome children of the Spring,
In your garbs of green and gold,
Lifting up your sun-crowned heads
On the verdant plain and wold.
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Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord,
And gather the bruised grain;
But the reapers had left the stubble bare,
And I trod the soil in pain.
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IT shall flash through coming ages;
It shall light the distant years;
And eyes now dim with sorrow
Shall be clearer through their tears.
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I'm tired, I'm tired of life, brother!
Of all that meets my eye;
And my weary spirit fain would pass
To worlds beyond the sky.
...