Oh! my soul has caught the music, as it softly floats along—
Ah! the soul-entrancing music of sweet Lula Johnson's song!
If my feet shall ever falter, it shall cheer me on my way;
Ay, sustain and give me comfort,—make my feeble spirit gay.
All we need to have, my brothers, in our war of peace 'gainst strife,
Is the cadence of sweet music sprinkled in to sweeten life;
It will sweeten all our bitters, which now seem so very long,
If we have it soft and gentle, as sweet Lula Johnson's song.
In the lonely hours of midnight, when fair Luna 'gins to pale,
I have heard her songs a-ringing, floating softly on the gale.
And I hope when dawns the morning, when I draw my fleeting breath,
When my friends are gathered 'round me, and my eyes are closed in death—
Ere you throw the sods upon me, on my never-heaving breast,
While my body's lying silent and my soul is seeking rest—
Then I'll wing straight home to glory, for the journey won't be long,
On the spirit-wafting music of sweet Lula Johnson's song!
A TRIBUTE TO DUNBAR
The sweetest singer once thou wast, but art no more;
An elf thou wast of what thou now shalt be,
Where thou art in realms of that celestial shore;
There thou shalt sing through all eternity.
We, peerless bard, bewail thy loss
And shed heart-broken tears,
Though meekly thou hast borne thy cross
And winged the flight of years!
Thrice blessed singer, wrapped in heavenly bliss,
Of earth's poor souls thy fortune who can tell?
Perchance thy splendid lot be solely this:
To change thy lute with the angel Israfel!
If so, then smite thy golden strings
With fingers nimble, strong,
Till all along fair heaven rings
With cadence of thy song!
Thee tyrant earth once held, imprisoned soul,
That suffered tortures of relentless strife,
Fair heaven now holds within her sheltered fold,
And gives thee robe and harp—eternal life!
Grant him, O God, unfaltering breath
To sing from heaven afar
A song to cheer our souls in death—
The peerless Paul Dunbar!
WERE I A BIRD
Were I a bird free born to fly
Aloof on two wee, downy wings,
My canopy would be the sky
When rosy morn its dawning springs.