POEM. 317
time to a half century ago, when slavery was approaching its
zenith, and before the light of freedom, education and citizen-
ship had commenced to (lawn upon our miserable status, we
find that it furnishes food for considerable pleasant reflection.
To-day, we are doing our own writing, our own thinking, our
own publishing. What a wonderful stride!
* * * * *
Many of the above facts, relative to the early history of Negro
journalism, were furnished the writer through the kindness of
Prof. I. Garland Penn, of Lynchburg, Va, the youngest and one
of the ablest scholars and journalists of the age. Mr. Penn is
just now completing a volume, treating very exhaustively
the history of Negro journalism, with sketches of, and opinions
from, some of the ablest educators and journalists of the race.
VIII.
POEM.
BY BISHOP T. M. D. WARD.
We stand on life's receding sands,
To lay our tribute at the feet
Of brothers who, in brighter lands,
We humbly hope to clasp and greet,
Whose sons stand up in distant climes,
And lay their honors at their feet;
The churches, with their thousand chimes,
Ring out their praises, rich and sweet
And millions on that blissful shore
Await the coming of our sires,
To meet when all life's toil is o'er,
And stand amid the judgment fires.
Redeemed they stand, true to their Lord--
A saintly train, bright, strong and fair
Let all the land, with one accord,
With songs of triumph fill the air.
And distant Afric! from thy main,
With sea-girt islands, join the song,
And wild Atlantic swell the strain,
And tell of love than death more strong.
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