He scans the world with calm and fearless eyes,

Conscious within of powers long since forgot;

At every step, now man-made barriers rise

To bar his progress–but he heeds them not.

He stands erect though tempests round him crash,

Though thunder burst and billows surge and roll;

He laughs and forges on, while lightnings flash

Along the rocky path to his goal.

Impassive as a Sphinx, he stares ahead–

Foresees new empires rise and old ones fall;

While caste-mad nations lust for blood to shed,

He sees God's finger writing on the wall.

With soul awakened, wise and strong he stands,

Holding his destiny in his hands.

Someone is always at my elbow reminding me that I am a granddaughter of slaves. It fails to register depression with me. Slavery is sixty years in the past. The operation was successful and the patient is doing well, thank you. The terrible struggle that made an American out of a potential slave said “On the line!” The Reconstruction said “Get set!”; and the generation before me said “Go!” I am off to a flying start and I must not halt in the stretch to look behind and weep. Slavery is the price I paid for civilization, and the choice was not with me. It is a bully adventure and worth all that I paid through my ancestors for it.