Through The Years I Have Received My

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.

Artists Are The Gate Keepers Of Truth. We Are Civilization’s Radical Voice.

And, Gentlemen, They Have Not Yet Done So, And It Is Quite Clear That No Americans, No People In The World Probably, Are Going To War With The Soviet Union.

I Said It Was My Feeling That The American People Would Struggle For Peace, And That Has Since Been Underscored By The President Of These United States.

The Intolerance Of The Few, Or The Risk Of It, Carries The Day Against The Wider Humanity Of The Many.