The Reunion
Well, one morning real early
I was going down the street,
And I heard a stranger asking
For Missis Chloe Fleet.
There was something in his voice
That made me feel quite shaky.
And when I looked right in his face,
Who should it be but Jakey!
I grasped him tight, and took him home -
What gladness filled my cup!
And I laughed, and just rolled over,
And laughed, and just give up.
'Where have you been? O Jakey, dear!
Why didn't you come before?
Oh! when you children went away
My heart was awful sore.'
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Our Helen
Our Helen is a 'perfect love'
Of a blue-eyed baby;
When she's grown she'll be a belle,
And a 'Venus,' may be.
Such a cunning little mouth,
Lips as red as cherry,
And she smiles on all around
In a way so merry.
Laughs, and crows, and claps her hands,
Springs, and hops, and dances,
As if her little brain overflowed
With lively, tripping fancies.
Then she'll arch her pretty neck,
And toss her head so queenly,
And, when she's weary, fall asleep
And slumber so serenely.
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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The Dying Bondman
Life was trembling, faintly trembling
On the bondman's latest breath,
And he felt the chilling pressure
Of the cold, hard hand of Death.
He had been an Afric chieftain,
Worn his manhood as a crown;
But upon the field of battle
Had been fiercely stricken down.
He had longed to gain his freedom,
Waited, watched and hoped in vain,
Till his life was slowly ebbing --
Almost broken was his chain.
By his bedside stood the master,
Gazing on the dying one,
Knowing by the dull grey shadows
That life's sands were almost run.
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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The Slave Mother
Heard you that shriek? It rose
So wildly on the air,
It seemed as if a burden'd heart
Was breaking in despair.
Saw you those hands so sadly clasped --
The bowed and feeble hand --
The shuddering of that fragile form --
That look of grief and dread?
Saw you the sad, imploring eye?
Its every glance was pain,
As if a storm of agony
Were sweeping through the brain.
She is a mother, pale with fear,
Her boy clings to her side,
And in her kirtle vainly tries
His trembling form to hide.
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Bury Me in a Free Land
Make me a grave where'er you will,
In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;
Make it among earth's humblest graves,
But not in a land where men are slaves.
I could not rest if around my grave
I heard the steps of a trembling slave;
His shadow above my silent tomb
Would make it a place of fearful gloom.
I could not rest if I heard the tread
Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,
And the mother's shriek of wild despair
Rise like a curse on the trembling air.
I could not sleep if I saw the lash
Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,
And I saw her babes torn from her breast,
Like trembling doves from their parent nest.
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Jamie's Puzzle
There was grief within our household
Because of a vacant chair.
Our mother, so loved and precious,
No longer was sitting there.
Our hearts grew heavy with sorrow,
Our eyes with tears were blind,
And little Jamie was wondering,
Why we were left behind.
We had told our little darling,
Of the land of love and light,
Of the saints all crowned with glory,
And enrobed in spotless white.
We said that our precious mother,
Had gone to that land so fair,
To dwell with beautiful angels,
And to be forever there.
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Learning To Read
Very soon the Yankee teachers
Came down and set up school;
But, oh! how the Rebs did hate it, -
It was agin' their rule.
Our masters always tried to hide
Book learning from our eyes;
Knowledge did'nt agree with slavery -
'Twould make us all too wise.
But some of us would try to steal
A little from the book,
And put the words together,
And learn by hook or crook.
I remember Uncle Caldwell,
Who took pot liquor fat
And greased the pages of his book,
And hid it in his hat.
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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The Drunkard's Child
He stood beside his dying child,
With a dim and bloodshot eye;
They'd won him from the haunts of vice
To see his first-born die.
He came with a slow and staggering tread,
A vague, unmeaning stare,
And, reeling, clasped the clammy hand,
So deathly pale and fair.
In a dark and gloomy chamber,
Life ebbing fast away,
On a coarse and wretched pallet,
The dying sufferer lay:
A smile of recognition
Lit up the glazing eye;
"I'm very glad," it seemed to say,
"You've come to see me die."
That smile reached to his callous heart,
It sealed fountains stirred;
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Burial of Sarah
He stood before the sons of Heth,
And bowed his sorrowing head;
"I've come," he said, "to buy a place
Where I may lay my dead.
"I am a stranger in your land,
My home has lost its light;
Grant me a place where I may lay
My dead away from sight."
Then tenderly the sons of Heth
Gazed on the mourner's face,
And said, "Oh, Prince, amid our dead,
Choose thou her resting-place.
"The sepulchres of those we love,
We place at thy command;
Against the plea thy grief hath made
We close not heart nor hand."
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Our Hero
Onward to her destination,
O'er the stream that Hannah sped,
When a cry of consternation
Smote and chilled our hearts with dread.
Wildly leaping, madly sweeping,
All relentless in their sway,
Like a band of cruel demons
Flames were closing 'round our way
Oh! the horror of those moments;
Flames above and waves below-
Oh! the agony of ages
Crowded in one hour of woe.
Fainter grew our hearts with anguish
In that hour with peril rife,
When we saw the pilot flying,
Terror-stricken, for his life.
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poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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