Classic Poem

Let others sing in their intricate strophes
Of sorrow and grim despair
And wail of the snares that beset the race,
Of the hate that befouls the air;
Let them beat their breasts at the lynching tree,
And clench their fists at the sky—
My soul sinks, too, but I will not wail,
I know there's a God on high.

So it's hope again, trust again, sing again,
A whine is a weakling's plea;
The stars have not changed in their courses,
The moon still orders the sea.

There's murder and hate in the Balkans;
There's vengeance in far Cathay;
Injustice and tyranny threaten
Where men and greed have their sway;
They're lynching my sisters in Texas,
They're flogging my sons on the farm;
But I know that Omnipotence watches,
That God has a far-flung arm.

So it's hope again, trust again, sing again,
Step proudly, your face to the skies,
Though the curtain of midnight fold you,
At the dawning, the sun will arise.

Let despairing youth carve in their cameos,
Black, lurid, and hellish hate;
Paint a Japanese couplet to emblazon the screed
That Christ came to earth too late;
'Twas ever the way of the young to forget
That Love is the one great rule;
Through ultimate tears this lesson is drilled,
For this God sends us to school.

So it's hope again, trust again, sing again,
For hate is the wild beast's yelp;
Though the pack of the jungle be at our heels,
Omnipotent Love is our help.