Quaint, Outlandish Heathen Gods Black Men Fashion

Father, Son, And Holy Ghost, So I Make An Idle Boast; Jesus Of The Twice-turned Cheek Lamb Of God, Although I Speak With My Mouth Thus, In My Heart Do I Play A Double Part.

Ever At Thy Glowing Altar Must My Heart Grow Sick And Falter, Wishing He I Served Were Black.

If I Am Going To Be A Poet At All, I Am Going To Be Poet And Not Negro Poet.

[w]e Have Always Resented The Natural Inclination Of Most White People To Demand Spirituals The Moment It Is Known That A Negro Is About To Sing. So Often The Request Has Seemed To Savor Of The Feeling That We Could Do This And This Alone.

For We Must Be One Thing Or The Other, An Asset Or A Liability, The Sinew In Your Wing To Help You Soar, Or The Chain To Bind You To Earth.