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They voyaged over many tempestuous oceans and seas;
They were pursued in woods by vicious dogs—dogs
Salivating stale slave smells of strange fruits
In hanging trees.
They were hunted, trapped and penned like slimed
Wild hogs.
They waded rivers—buoyed by the bodies of their ancestors;
Footprints left in caked blood on river banks in the golden dawn.
Now here we are; standing in the mist of our debtors:
flaming spirits from the black phoenix’s spawn. We’re now
on the everlasting arm of which the ancestors leaned upon.
We are those of which the ancestors long ago spoke;
We are the dream that sustained them during their bloody ‘buke
and lashing scorn;
We are the moored vision and anchor that strengthen them
with audacious hope.
So come chosen children, everybody gather here around;
Let us sit together—talk and pray for just a little while.
Like papa, keep your eyes on the prize—not on the ground;
Walk well down the blood stained path of freedom’s aisle.
Listen children, the battle is not yet won; there’s still much work
left for us to get done.
Girdle yourselves with that ebony pilgrim’s pride—facing
the rising sun of a new day begun.
Rise up little children and give rebirth to the words
the ancestors said!
Rise up little children and cover yourself with the blood
they have shed!
Rise up little children and rip apart the new veiled shackles
and hidden yoke!
Rise up little children—raising your torches higher
than everlasting hope!
You are the new torch bearers of the dream;
You are today’s Martin Luther King.
