Artists Are The Gate Keepers Of Truth.

At Every Step The Vast Majority Have Expressed Horror At The Idea Of An Aggressive War.

This Is Our Home And This Is Our Country. Beneath Its Soil Lie Bones Of Our Fathers; For It Some Of Them Fought, Bled, And Died. Here We Were Born And Here We Will Stay.

If The American Negro Is To Have A Culture Of His Own He Will Have To Leave America To Get It.

Yes, I Heard My People Singing!-in The Glow Of Parlor Coal-stove And On Summer Porches Sweet With Lilac Air, From Choir Loft And Sunday Morning Pews-and My Soul Was Filled With Their Harmonies. Then, Too, I Heard These Songs In The Very Sermons Of My Father, For In The Negro's Speech There Is Much Of The Phrasing And Rhythms Of Folk-song. The Great, Soaring Gospels We Love Are Merely Sermons That Are Sung; And As We Thrill To Such Gifted Gospel Singers As Mahalia Jackson, We Hear The Rhythmic Eloquence Of Our Preachers, So Many Of Whom, Like My Father, Are Masters Of Poetic Speech.

The Talents Of An Artist, Small Or Large, Are God-given... They Are A Sacred Trust.