Poem 5: THE LITTLE BLACK BOY
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| | My mother bore me in the southern wild, | |
| | And I am black, but O my soul is white! | |
| | White as an angel is the English child, | |
| | But I am black, as if bereaved of light. | |
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| | My mother taught me underneath a tree, | |
| | And, sitting down before the heat of day, | |
| | She took me on her lap and kissed me, | |
| | And, pointing to the East, began to say: | |
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| | 'Look on the rising sun: there God does live, | |
| | And gives His light, and gives His heat away, | |
| | And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive | |
| | Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday. | |
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| | 'And we are put on earth a little space, | |
| | That we may learn to bear the beams of love; | |
| | And these black bodies and this sunburnt face | |
| | Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. | |
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| | 'For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear, | |
| | The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice, | |
| | Saying, "Come out from the grove, my love and care, | |
| | And round my golden tent like lambs rejoice."' | |
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| | Thus did my mother say, and kissed me, | |
| | And thus I say to little English boy. | |
| | When I from black, and he from white cloud free, | |
| | And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, | |
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| | I'll shade him from the heat till he can bear | |
| | To lean in joy upon our Father's knee; | |
| | And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, | |
| | And be like him, and he will then love me. | |
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