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| Lift Every Voice and Sing |
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| Sonnet to a Negro in Harlem |
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| The Negro Speaks of Rivers |
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| When the Negro was in Vogue |
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| Who was Editor of The Crisis? |
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| Who was editor of The Opportunity? |
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| 4 Poems by James Weldon Johnson |
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Lift Every Voice and Sing The Creation Fifty Years The Color Sergeant |
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| 4 poems (or prose) by W.E.B. DuBois |
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Song of the Smoke Litany of Atlanta Returning Soliders The Souls of Black Folk |
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| 5 poems by Paul Laurence Dunbar |
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Sympathy We Wear the Mask A Negro Love Song A Death Song The Debt |
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| 2 poems by Jessie Fausett |
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| Poem by Gwendolyn Bennett |
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My Race Sonnet to Negro in Harlem |
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If We Must Die Baptism America The White House |
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| 5 poems by Sterling Brown |
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Slim in Hell Southern Road Memphis Blues The Ballad of Joe Meek Ma Rainey |
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| 8 poems (or prose) by Langston Hughes |
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The Weary Blues Lenox Avenue Mural Jazzonia The Trumpet Player The Negro Speaks of Rivers Cross When the Negro was in Vogue Parties |
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Harvest Song Cotton Song Georgia Dusk |
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| 4 poems by Countee Cullen |
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Yet Do I Marvel From the Dark Tower Incident A Brown Girl Dead |
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Gethsemane Southern Mansion The Day-Breakers Golgotha Is a Mountain |
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Let our rejoicing rise, high as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on till victory is won. Stony the road we trod, bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat, have not our weary feet,
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered,
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered;
Out from the gloomy past, till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast. God of our weary years, God of our silent tears,
Thou Who hast brought us thus far on the way;
Thou Who hast by Thy might, led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee.
Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee.
Shadowed beneath Thy hand, may we forever stand,
True to our God, true to our native land. |
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Lift Every Voice and Sing James Weldon Johnson & Rosamond Johnson |
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| | | Up from the bed of the river | | | God scooped the clay; | | | And by the bank of the river | | | He kneeled Him down; | | | And there the great God Almighty | | | Who lit the sun and fixed it in the sky, | | | Who flung the stars to the most far corner of the night, | | | Who rounded the earth in the middle of His hand; | | | This Great God, | | | Like a mammy bending over her baby, | 85 | | Kneeled down in the dust | | | Toiling over a lump of clay | | | Till He shaped it in His own image; | | | |
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The Creation James Weldon Johnson |
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| Just fifty years—a winter’s day— | 5 | | As runs the history of a race; | | | Yet, as we look back o’er the way, | | | How distant seems our starting place! |
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Fifty Years James Weldon Johnson |
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There he lay, without honor or rank,
But, still, in a grim-like beauty;
Despised of men for his humble race,
Yet true, in death, to his duty. |
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The Color Sergeant James Weldon Johnson |
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I am carving God in night,
I am painting hell in white.
I am the smoke king,
I am black.
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Song of the Smoke W.E.B. DuBois |
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| And yet whose is the deeper guilt? Who made these devils? Who nursed them in crime and fed them on injustice? Who ravished and debauched their mothers and their grandmothers? Who bought and sold their crime, and waxed fat and rich on public iniquity? | | | Thou knowest, good God! |
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A Litany of Atlanta W.E.B DuBois |
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Disfranchisement is the deliberate theft and robbery of the only protection of poor against rich and black against white. The land that disfranchises its citizens and calls itself a democracy lies and knows it lies. It encourages ignorance. |
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Returning Soldiers W.E.B. DuBois |
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I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,--
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings--
I know why the caged bird sings! |
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Sympathy Paul Laurence Dunbar |
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Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask. |
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We Wear the Mask Paul Laurence Dunbar |
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Hyeahd de win' blow thoo de pine,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Mockin'-bird was singin' fine,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
An' my hea't was beatin' so,
When I reached my lady's do',
Dat I could n't ba' to go--
Jump back, honey, jump back. |
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A Negro Love Song Paul Laurence Dunbar |
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| LAY me down beneaf de willers in de grass, | | | Whah de branch’ll go a-singin’ as it pass | | | An’ w’en I’s a-layin’ low, | | | I kin hyeah it as it go | | | Singin’, “Sleep, my honey, tek yo’ res’ at las’.” |
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A Death Song Paul Laurence Dunbar |
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| | | THIS is the debt I pay | | | Just for one riotous day, | | | Years of regret and grief, | | | Sorrow without relief. | | | | | Pay it I will to the end— | 5 | | Until the grave, my friend, | | | Gives me a true release— | | | Gives me the clasp of peace. | | | | | Slight was the thing I bought, | | | Small was the debt I thought, | 10 | | Poor was the loan at best— | | | God! but the interest! |
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The Debt Paul Laurence Dunbar |
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- I THINK I see her sitting bowed and black,
Stricken and seared with slavery's mortal scars,
Reft of her children, lonely, anguished, yet
Still looking at the stars. - Symbolic mother, we thy myriad sons,
Pounding our stubborn hearts on Freedom's bars,
Clutching our birthright, fight with faces set,
Still visioning the stars!
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| IF this is peace, this dead and leaden thing, | | | Then better far the hateful fret, the sting. | | | Better the wound forever seeking balm | | | Than this gray calm! |
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| Who worked together on Shuffle Along and why was it so popular/significant? |
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Noble Sissle and Eubie Blake First play with an all-black cast Showed more than stereotypes |
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| Photographer whose work chronicled Sugar Hill Society |
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Define Lindy-Hoppers What Club? |
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| Jesse Fauset's parties were different how? |
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| They were intellectual gatherings rather than Rent Parties. |
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| Fletcher Henderson played? |
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| Direct predecessor of Jazz |
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| Where does Joel A. Rogers say that Jazz comes from? |
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Jasbo Brown Patrons would shout "More, Jasbo. More, Jas, more." |
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