Explore "The True American" by Georgia Douglas Johnson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
America, here is your son, born of your iron heel, / Black blood and red and white contend along this frame of steel.
The thorns deep in his brow are set and yet he does not cower, / He goes with neither fears nor tears to crucifixion hour.
Nor yet does hatred blur his view of mankind's frail parade, / From his commanding triple coign, all prejudices fade.
The ebbing nations coalesce in him and flow as one, / The bright shining rainbow sweeping back to God at set of sun!
Mark well the surety of tread, the new song high in air, / The new note in the nation's throat, as permanent as prayer.
America, regard your son, The Cosmopolitan, / The pattern of posterity, The True American.