Till All Doors Open Freely

As school doors in the South grudgingly open

Where eager ebon-faced youth enters,

In the faint echoes lingering on southern winds,

We hear the pistol-shot of a long curling whip;

The soft swish of the fan a black boy swings monotonously

Keeping the flies from the dinner table in the Big House--

He mutely sings, "I'll walk all over God's Heaven;"

The mumbling of the exhausted slave in his sleep--

"Swing low, sweet Chariot"--swing low in mercy.

We see the burden-bearers--meek--in the Sunday churches

Listening to the praises of a God of love and justice--

"All God's Children Got a Heaven."

School doors are opening grudgingly--

"Swing low, sweet Chariot" till all doors open freely.