top of page

Bury Me in a Free Land

I ask no monument, proud and high,
To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;
All that my yearning spirit craves,
Is bury me not in a land of slaves.

Learning to Read

Our masters always tried to hide Book learning from our eyes; Knowledge didn’t agree with slavery— ‘Twould make us all too wise.

Songs for the People

Let me make the songs for the weary,
   Amid life’s fever and fret,
Till hearts shall relax their tension,
   And careworn brows forget.

The Slave Mother

Saw you the sad, imploring eye?
   Its every glance was pain,
As if a storm of agony
   Were sweeping through the brain.

Harper's Ferry

bottom of page