Textarchiv - Frances Harper
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper
African-American abolitionist, suffragist, poet and author. Born September 24, 1825 in Baltimore, Maryland, United States. Died February 22, 1911, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, United States.
deGo work in my Vineyard
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper/go-work-in-my-vineyard
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord,<br />
And gather the bruised grain;<br />
But the reapers had left the stubble bare,<br />
And I trod the soil in pain.</p>
<p>The fields of my Lord are wide and broad,<br />
He has pastures fair and green,<br />
And vineyards that drink the golden light<br />
Which flows from the sun's bright sheen.</p>
<p>I heard the joy of the reapers' song,<br />
As they gathered golden grain;<br />
Then wearily turned unto my task,<br />
With a lonely sense of pain.</p>
<p>Sadly I turned from the sun's fierce glare.<br />
And sought the quiet shade,<br />
And over my dim and weary eyes<br />
Sleep's peaceful fingers strayed.</p>
<p>I dreamed I joined with a restless throng,<br />
Eager for pleasure and gain;<br />
But ever and anon a stumbler fell,<br />
And uttered a cry of pain.</p>
<p>But the eager crowd still hurried on,<br />
Too busy to pause or heed,<br />
When a voice rang sadly through my soul,<br />
You must staunch these wounds that bleed.</p>
<p>My hands were weak, but I reached them out<br />
To feebler ones than mine,<br />
And over the shadows of my life<br />
Stole the light of a peace divine.</p>
<p>Oh! then my task was a sacred thing,<br />
How precious it grew in my eyes!<br />
'Twas mine to gather the bruised grain<br />
For the" Lord of Paradise."</p>
<p>And when the reapers shall lay their grain<br />
On the floors of golden light,<br />
I feel that mine with its broken sheaves<br />
Shall be precious in His sight.</p>
<p>Though thorns may often pierce my feet,<br />
And the shadows still abide,<br />
The mists will vanish before His smile,<br />
There will be light at eventide.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/frances-harper" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Frances Harper</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/frances-harper/go-work-in-my-vineyard" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="Go work in my Vineyard" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Tue, 16 Apr 2019 21:10:09 +0000mrbot11841 at https://www.textarchiv.comThe Hermit's Sacrifice
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper/the-hermits-sacrifice
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>From Rome's palaces and villas<br />
Gaily issued forth a throng;<br />
From her humbler habitations<br />
Moved a human tide along.</p>
<p>Haughty dames and blooming maidens,<br />
Men who knew not mercy's sway,<br />
Thronged into the Coliseum<br />
On that Roman holiday.</p>
<p>From the lonely wilds of Asia,<br />
From her jungles far away,<br />
From the distant torrid regions,<br />
Rome had gathered beasts of prey.</p>
<p>Lions restless, roaring, rampant,<br />
Tigers with their stealthy tread,<br />
Leopards bright, and fierce, and fiery,<br />
Met in conflict wild and dread.</p>
<p>Fierce and fearful was the carnage<br />
Of the maddened beasts of prey,<br />
As they fought and rent each other<br />
Urged by men more fierce than they.</p>
<p>Till like muffled thunders breaking<br />
On a vast and distant shore,<br />
Fainter grew the yells of tigers,<br />
And the lions' dreadful roar.</p>
<p>On the crimson-stained arena<br />
Lay the victims of the fight;<br />
Eyes which once had glared with anguish,<br />
Lost in death their baleful light.</p>
<p>Then uprose the gladiators<br />
Armed for conflict unto death,<br />
Waiting for the prefect's signal,<br />
Cold and stern with bated breath.</p>
<p>"Ave Caesar, morituri,<br />
Te, salutant," rose the cry<br />
From the lips of men ill-fated,<br />
Doomed to suffer and to die.</p>
<p>Then began the dreadful contest,<br />
Lives like chaff were thrown away,<br />
Rome with all her pride and power<br />
Butchered for a holiday.</p>
<p>Eagerly the crowd were waiting,<br />
Loud the clashing sabres rang,<br />
When between the gladiators<br />
All unarmed a hermit sprang.</p>
<p>"Cease your bloodshed," cried the hermit,<br />
"On this carnage place your ban;"<br />
But with flashing swords they answered,<br />
"Back unto your place, old man."</p>
<p>From their path the gladiators<br />
Thrust the strange intruder back,<br />
Who between their hosts advancing<br />
Calmly parried their attack.</p>
<p>All undaunted by their weapons,<br />
Stood the old heroic man;<br />
While a maddened cry of anger<br />
Through the vast assembly ran.</p>
<p>"Down with him," cried out the people,<br />
As with thumbs unbent they glared,<br />
Till the prefect gave the signal<br />
That his life should not be spared.</p>
<p>Men grew wild with wrathful passion,<br />
When his fearless words were said<br />
Cruelly they fiercely showered<br />
Stones on his devoted head.</p>
<p>Bruised and bleeding fell the hermit,<br />
Victor in that hour of strife;<br />
Gaining in his death a triumph<br />
That he could not win in life.</p>
<p>Had he uttered on the forum<br />
Struggling thoughts within him born,<br />
Men had jeered his words as madness,<br />
But his deed they could not scorn.</p>
<p>Not in vain had been his courage,<br />
Nor for naught his daring deed;<br />
From his grave his mangled body<br />
Did for wretched captives plead.</p>
<p>From that hour Rome, grown more thoughtful,<br />
Ceased her sport in human gore;<br />
And into her Coliseum<br />
Gladiators came no more.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/frances-harper" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Frances Harper</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/frances-harper/the-hermits-sacrifice" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="The Hermit's Sacrifice" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Mon, 15 Apr 2019 21:10:08 +0000mrbot11834 at https://www.textarchiv.comHe "had not where to lay his Head."
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper/he-had-not-where-to-lay-his-head
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>The conies had their hiding-place,<br />
The wily fox with stealthy tread<br />
A covert found, but Christ, the Lord,<br />
Had not a place to lay his head.</p>
<p>The eagle had an eyrie home,<br />
The blithesome bird its quiet rest,<br />
But not the humblest spot on earth<br />
Was by the Son of God possessed.</p>
<p>Princes and kings had palaces,<br />
With grandeur could adorn each tomb,<br />
For Him who came with love and life,<br />
They had no home, they gave no room.</p>
<p>The hands whose touch sent thrills of joy<br />
Through nerves unstrung and palsied frame,<br />
The feet that travelled for our need,<br />
Were nailed unto the cross of shame.</p>
<p>How dare I murmur at my lot,<br />
Or talk of sorrow, pain and loss,<br />
When Christ was in a manger laid,<br />
And died in anguish on the cross.</p>
<p>That homeless one beheld beyond<br />
His lonely agonizing pain,<br />
A love outflowing from His heart,<br />
That all the wandering world would gain.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/frances-harper" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Frances Harper</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/frances-harper/he-had-not-where-to-lay-his-head" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="He "had not where to lay his Head."" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Mon, 15 Apr 2019 21:10:08 +0000mrbot11840 at https://www.textarchiv.comThe Pure in Heart shall see God
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper/the-pure-in-heart-shall-see-god
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>They shall see Him in the crimson flush<br />
Of morning's early light,<br />
In the drapery of sunset,<br />
Around the couch of night.</p>
<p>When the clouds drop down their fatness,<br />
In late and early rain,<br />
They shall see His glorious footprints<br />
On valley, hill and plain.</p>
<p>They shall see Him when the cyclone<br />
Breathes terror through the land;<br />
They shall see Him 'mid the murmurs<br />
Of zephyrs soft and bland.</p>
<p>They shall see Him when the lips of health,<br />
Breath vigor through each nerve,<br />
When pestilence clasps hands with death,<br />
His purposes to serve.</p>
<p>They shall see Him when the trembling eart<br />
Is rocking to and fro;<br />
They shall see Him in the order<br />
The seasons come and go.</p>
<p>They shall see Him when the storms of war<br />
Sweep wildly through the land;<br />
When peace descends like gentle dew<br />
They still shall see His hand.</p>
<p>They shall see Him in the city<br />
Of gems and pearls of light,<br />
They shall see Him in his beauty,<br />
And walk with Him in white.</p>
<p>To living founts their feet shall tend,<br />
And Christ shall be their guide,<br />
Beloved of God, their rest shall be<br />
In safety by His side.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/frances-harper" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Frances Harper</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/frances-harper/the-pure-in-heart-shall-see-god" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="The Pure in Heart shall see God" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Sun, 14 Apr 2019 21:10:09 +0000mrbot11832 at https://www.textarchiv.comThe Martyr of Alabama
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper/the-martyr-of-alabama
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>He lifted up his pleading eyes,<br />
And scanned each cruel face,<br />
Where cold and brutal cowardice<br />
Had left its evil trace.</p>
<p>It was when tender memories<br />
Round Beth'lem's manger lay,<br />
And mothers told their little ones<br />
Of Jesu's natal day.</p>
<p>And of the Magi from the East<br />
Who came their gifts to bring,<br />
And bow in rev'rence at the feet<br />
Of Salem's new-born King.</p>
<p>And how the herald angels sang<br />
The choral song of peace,<br />
That war should close his wrathful lips,<br />
And strife and carnage cease.</p>
<p>At such an hour men well may hush<br />
Their discord and their strife,<br />
And o'er that manger clasp their hands<br />
With gifts to brighten life.</p>
<p>Alas! that in our favored land,<br />
That cruelty and crime<br />
Should cast their shadows o'er a day,<br />
The fairest pearl of time.</p>
<p>A dark-browed boy had drawn anear<br />
A band of savage men,<br />
Just as a hapless lamb might stray<br />
Into a tiger's den.</p>
<p>Cruel and dull, they saw in him<br />
For sport an evil chance,<br />
And then demanded of the child<br />
To give to them a dance.</p>
<p>Come dance for us," the rough men said;<br />
"I can't," the child replied,<br />
"I cannot for the dear Lord's sake,<br />
Who for my sins once died."</p>
<p>Tho' they were strong and he was weak,<br />
He wouldn't his Lord deny.<br />
His life lay in their cruel hands,<br />
But he for Christ could die.</p>
<p>Heard they aright? Did that brave child<br />
Their mandates dare resist?<br />
Did he against their stern commands<br />
Have courage to resist?</p>
<p>Then recklessly a man (?) arose,<br />
And dealt a fearful blow.<br />
He crushed the portals of that life,<br />
And laid the brave child low.</p>
<p>And trampled on his prostrate form,<br />
As on a broken toy;<br />
Then danced with careless, brutal feet,<br />
Upon the murdered boy.</p>
<p>Christians! behold that martyred child!<br />
His blood cries from the ground;<br />
Before the sleepless eye of God,<br />
He shows each gaping wound.</p>
<p>Oh! Church of Christ arise! arise!<br />
Lest crimson stain thy hand,<br />
When God shall inquisition make<br />
For blood shed in the land.</p>
<p>Take sackcloth of the darkest hue,<br />
And shroud the pulpits round;<br />
Servants of him who cannot lie<br />
Sit mourning on the ground.</p>
<p>Let holy horror blanch each brow,<br />
Pale every cheek with fears,<br />
And rocks and stones, if ye could speak,<br />
Ye well might melt to tears.</p>
<p>Through every fane send forth a cry,<br />
Of sorrow and regret,<br />
Nor in an hour of careless ease<br />
Thy brother's wrongs forget.</p>
<p>Veil not thine eyes, nor close thy lips,<br />
Nor speak with bated breath;<br />
This evil shall not always last,—<br />
The end of it is death.</p>
<p>Avert the doom that crime must bring<br />
Upon a guilty land;<br />
Strong in the strength that God supplies,<br />
For truth and justice stand.</p>
<p>For Christless men, with reckless hands,<br />
Are sowing round thy path<br />
The tempests wild that yet shall break<br />
In whirlwinds of God's wrath.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/frances-harper" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Frances Harper</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/frances-harper/the-martyr-of-alabama" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="The Martyr of Alabama" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Sun, 14 Apr 2019 21:10:09 +0000mrbot11833 at https://www.textarchiv.comA Double Standard
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper/a-double-standard
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>Do you blame me that I loved him?<br />
If when standing all alone<br />
I cried for bread a careless world<br />
Pressed to my lips a stone.</p>
<p>Do you blame me that I loved him,<br />
That my heart beat glad and free,<br />
When he told me in the sweetest tones<br />
He loved but only me?</p>
<p>Can you blame me that I did not see<br />
Beneath his burning kiss<br />
The serpent's wiles, nor even hear<br />
The deadly adder hiss?</p>
<p>Can you blame me that my heart grew cold<br />
That the tempted, tempter turned;<br />
When he was feted and caressed<br />
And I was coldly spurned?</p>
<p>Would you blame him, when you draw from me<br />
Your dainty robes aside,<br />
If he with gilded baits should claim<br />
Your fairest as his bride?</p>
<p>Would you blame the world if it should press<br />
On him a civic crown;<br />
And see me struggling in the depth<br />
Then harshly press me down?</p>
<p>Crime has no sex and yet to-day<br />
I wear the brand of shame;<br />
Whilst he amid the gay and proud<br />
Still bears an honored name.</p>
<p>Can you blame me if I've learned to think<br />
Your hate of vice a sham,<br />
When you so coldly crushed me down<br />
And then excused the man?</p>
<p>Would you blame me if to-morrow<br />
The coroner should say,<br />
A wretched girl, outcast, forlorn,<br />
Has thrown her life away?</p>
<p>Yes, blame me for my downward course,<br />
But oh! remember well,<br />
Within your homes you press the hand<br />
That led me down to hell.</p>
<p>I'm glad God's ways are not our ways,<br />
He does not see as man;<br />
Within His love I know there's room<br />
For those whom others ban.</p>
<p>I think before His great white throne,<br />
His throne of spotless light,<br />
That whited sepulchres shall wear<br />
The hue-of endless night.</p>
<p>That I who fell, and he who sinned,<br />
Shall reap as we have sown;<br />
That each the burden of his loss<br />
Must bear and bear alone.</p>
<p>No golden weights can turn the scale<br />
Of justice in His sight;<br />
And what is wrong in woman's life<br />
In man's cannot be right.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/frances-harper" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Frances Harper</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/frances-harper/a-double-standard" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="A Double Standard" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Sat, 13 Apr 2019 21:10:09 +0000mrbot11844 at https://www.textarchiv.comHome, Sweet Home
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper/home-sweet-home
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>Sharers of a common country,<br />
They had met in deadly strife;<br />
Men who should have been as brothers<br />
Madly sought each other's life.</p>
<p>In the silence of the even,<br />
When the cannon's lips were dumb,<br />
'Thoughts of home and all its loved ones<br />
To the soldier's heart would come.</p>
<p>On the margin of a river,<br />
'Mid the evening's dews and damps,<br />
Could be heard the sounds of music<br />
Rising from two hostile camps.</p>
<p>One was singing of its section<br />
Down in Dixie, Dixie's land,<br />
And the other of the banner<br />
Waved so long from strand to strand.</p>
<p>In the land where Dixie's ensign<br />
Floated o'er the hopeful slave,<br />
Rose the song that freedom's banner,<br />
Starry-lighted, long might wave.</p>
<p>From the fields of strife and carnage,<br />
Gentle thoughts began to roam,<br />
And a tender strain of music<br />
Rose with words of "Home, Sweet Home."</p>
<p>'Then the hearts of strong men melted,<br />
For amid our grief and sin<br />
Still remains that "touch of nature,"<br />
Telling us we all are kin.</p>
<p>In one grand but gentle chorus,<br />
Floating to the starry dome,<br />
Came the words that brought them nearer,<br />
Words that told of "Home, Sweet Home."</p>
<p>For awhile, all strife forgotten,<br />
They were only brothers then,<br />
Joining in the sweet old chorus,<br />
Not as soldiers, but as men.</p>
<p>Men whose hearts would flow together,<br />
Though apart their feet might roam,<br />
Found a tie they could not sever,<br />
In the mem'ry of each home.</p>
<p>Never may the steps of carnage<br />
Shake our land from shore to shore,<br />
But may mother, home and Heaven,<br />
Be our watchwords evermore.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/frances-harper" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Frances Harper</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/frances-harper/home-sweet-home" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="Home, Sweet Home" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Fri, 12 Apr 2019 21:10:09 +0000mrbot11839 at https://www.textarchiv.comDeath of the old Sea King
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper/death-of-the-old-sea-king
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>Twas a fearful night—the tempest raved<br />
With loud and wrathful pride,<br />
The storm-king harnessed his lightning steeds,<br />
And rode on the raging tide.</p>
<p>The sea-king lay on his bed of death,<br />
Pale mourners around him bent;<br />
They knew the wild and fitful life<br />
Of their chief was almost spent.</p>
<p>His ear was growing dull in death<br />
When the angry storm he heard,<br />
The sluggish blood in the old man's veins<br />
With sudden vigor stirred.</p>
<p>"I hear them call," cried the dying man,<br />
His eyes grew full of light;<br />
"Now bring me here my warrior robes,<br />
My sword' and armor bright.</p>
<p>"In the tempest's lull I heard a voice,<br />
I knew 'twas Odin's call.<br />
The Valkyrs are gathering round my bed<br />
To lead me unto his hall.</p>
<p>"Bear me unto my noblest ship,<br />
Light up a funeral pyre;<br />
I'll walk to the palace of the braves<br />
Through a path of flame and fire."</p>
<p>Oh! wild and bright was the stormy light<br />
That flashed from the old man's eye,<br />
As they bore him from the couch of death<br />
To his battle-ship to die,</p>
<p>And lit with many a mournful torch<br />
The sea-king's dying bed,<br />
And like a banner fair and bright<br />
The flames around him spread.</p>
<p>But they heard no cry of anguish<br />
Break through that fiery wall,<br />
With rigid brow and silent lips<br />
He was seeking Odin's hall.</p>
<p>Through a path of fearful splendor,<br />
While strong men held their breath,<br />
The brave old man went boldly forth<br />
And calmly talked with death.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/frances-harper" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Frances Harper</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/frances-harper/death-of-the-old-sea-king" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="Death of the old Sea King" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Fri, 12 Apr 2019 21:10:08 +0000mrbot11843 at https://www.textarchiv.comThe Dying Bondman
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper/the-dying-bondman
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>Life was trembling, faintly trembling<br />
On the bondman's latest breath,<br />
And he felt the chilling pressure<br />
Of the cold, hard hand of Death.</p>
<p>He had been an Afric chieftain,<br />
Worn his manhood as a crown;<br />
But upon the field of battle<br />
Had been fiercely stricken down.</p>
<p>He had longed to gain his freedom,<br />
Waited, watched and hoped in vain,<br />
Till his life was slowly ebbing—<br />
Almost broken was his chain.</p>
<p>By his bedside stood the master,<br />
Gazing on the dying one,<br />
Knowing by the dull grey shadows<br />
That life's sands were almost run.</p>
<p>"Master," said the dying bondman,<br />
"Home and friends I soon shall see;<br />
But before I reach my country,<br />
Master write that I am free;</p>
<p>"For the spirits of my fathers<br />
Would shrink back from me in pride,<br />
If I told them at our greeting<br />
I a slave had lived and died;—</p>
<p>"Give to me the precious token,<br />
That my kindred dead may see—<br />
Master! write it, write it quickly!<br />
Master! write that I am free!"</p>
<p>At his earnest plea the master<br />
Wrote for him the glad release,<br />
O'er his wan and wasted features<br />
Flitted one sweet smile of peace.</p>
<p>Eagerly he grasped the writing;<br />
"I am free!" at last he said.<br />
Backward fell upon the pillow,<br />
He was free among the dead.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/frances-harper" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Frances Harper</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/frances-harper/the-dying-bondman" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="The Dying Bondman" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Thu, 11 Apr 2019 21:10:09 +0000mrbot11835 at https://www.textarchiv.comThank God for little Children
https://www.textarchiv.com/frances-harper/thank-god-for-little-children
<div class="field field-name-body field-type-text-with-summary field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:text content:encoded"><p>Thank God for little children,<br />
Bright flowers by earth's wayside,<br />
The dancing, joyous lifeboats<br />
Upon life's stormy tide.</p>
<p>Thank God for little children;<br />
When our skies are cold and gray,<br />
They come as sunshine to our hearts,<br />
And charm our cares away.</p>
<p>I almost think the angels,<br />
Who tend life's garden fair,<br />
Drop down the sweet wild blossoms<br />
That bloom around us here.</p>
<p>It seems a breath of heaven<br />
Round many a cradle lies,<br />
And every little baby<br />
Brings a message from the skies.</p>
<p>Dear mothers, guard these jewels,<br />
As sacred offerings meet,<br />
A wealth of household treasures<br />
To lay at Jesus' feet.</p>
</div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-author field-type-taxonomy-term-reference field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" rel="schema:author"><a href="/frances-harper" typeof="skos:Concept" property="schema:name" datatype="">Frances Harper</a></div></div></div><div class="field field-name-field-releasedate field-type-number-integer field-label-hidden"><div class="field-items"><div class="field-item even" property="schema:datePublished">1895</div></div></div><span rel="schema:url" resource="/frances-harper/thank-god-for-little-children" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span><span property="schema:name" content="Thank God for little Children" class="rdf-meta element-hidden"></span>Thu, 11 Apr 2019 21:10:02 +0000mrbot11837 at https://www.textarchiv.com