We Were Not Made To Eternally Weep.

All Day Long And All Night Through, One Thing Only Must I Do: Quench My Pride And Cool My Blood, Lest I Perish In The Flood.

Yet Do I Marvel At This Curious Thing:/ To Make A Poet Black, And Bid Him Sing!

I Cut My Teeth As The Black Raccoon-- For Implements Of Battle.

[w]e Have Always Resented The Natural Inclination Of Most White People To Demand Spirituals The Moment It Is Known That A Negro Is About To Sing. So Often The Request Has Seemed To Savor Of The Feeling That We Could Do This And This Alone.

Lord, I Fashion Dark Gods, Too, Daring Even To Give You Dark Despairing Features