Welcome to “The Rising Son.”
By Elijah W. Smith
Come forth, historian of our race,
And with the pen of Truth
Bring to our claim to Manhood’s rights,
The strength of written proof;
Draw back the curtain of the past,
And lift the ages’ pall,
That we may view the portraits grand
That hang on History’s wall!
Tell of a race whose onward tide
Was often swelled with tears;
In whose hearts bondage has not quenched
The fire of former years
When Hannibal’s resistless hosts
Wrought his imperial will,
And brave Toussaint to freedom called,
From Hayti’s vine-clad hill.
Write when, in these, our later days,
Earth’s noble ones are named,
We have a roll of honor, too,
Of which we’re not ashamed;
If, for the errors of the past,
In chains did we atone,
God, from our race’s sepulchre,
Hath rolled away the stone.
And our dear land, that long hath slept
Beneath oppression’s spell,
Welcomes the manly fortitude
That stood the test so well;
Bearing the record, blazoned o’er
With deeds of valor done,
Up to the Future’s golden door
He comes, the “Rising Son.”
The battle’s din hath passed away,
And o’er the furrowed plain
Spring, fresh and green, the tender blades
Of Freedom’s golden grain;
But eagle eyes must watch the field,
Lest the fell foe should dare
To scatter, while the sowers sleep,
Proscription’s noxious snare.
Lo! shadowy ’mid the forest-trees
Their demon forms are seen,
And lurid light of baleful eyes
Flash through the foliage green;
And till completed is the work
So gloriously begun,
A sentry true on Freedom’s walls
Stand thou, O “Rising Son!”
Go forth! the harbinger of days
More glorious than the past;
Hushed is the clash of hostile steel,
The bugle’s battle-blast;
Go, herald of the promised time,
When men of every land
Shall hasten joyfully to grasp
The Ethiope’s outstretched hand!