To Be A Poor Man Is Hard,

How Hard A Thing Is Life To The Lowly And Yet How Human And Real Is It? And All This Life And Love And Strife And Failure, - Is It The Twilight Of Nightfall Or The Flush Of Some Faint-dawning Day? The Answer Lies In Each Of Us. For Somewhere In Your Past ... Somewhere Some 100 Years Ago?there Rose From The Smoldering Ashes Of Slavery?a Proud And Humble Family Who Suffered And Struggled With Life. A Family Who Found The Strength To Endure All The Indignities Of Life In America, And That Family Had The Hope For A Taste Of Her Bounties In The Future.

No People Can More Exactly Interpret The Inmost Meaning Of The Present Situation In Ireland Than The American Negro. The Scheme Is Simple. You Knock A Man Down And Then Have Him Arrested For Assault. You Kill A Man And Then Hang The Corpse.

I Believe In Pride Of Race And Lineage And Self: In Pride Of Self So Deep As To Scorn Injustice To Other Selves; In Pride Of Lineage So Great As To Despise No Man's Father; In Pride Of Race So Chivalrous As Neither To Offer Bastardy To The Weak Nor Beg Wedlock Of The Strong, Knowing That Men May Be Brothers In Christ, Even Though They Be Not Brothers-in-law.

The World Is Shrinking Together; It Is Finding Itself Neighbor To Itself In Strange, Almost Magic Degree.

The World Still Wants To Ask That A Woman Primarily Be Pretty And If She Is Not, The Mob Pouts And Asks Querulously, 'what Else Are Women For?