LITMIR.BIZ

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       down

       down

       deep down,

       Till the devil's strength be shorn,

       Till some dim, darker David, a-hoeing of his corn,

       And married maiden, mother of God,

       Bid the black Christ be born!

       Then shall our burden be manhood,

       Be it yellow or black or white;

       And poverty and justice and sorrow,

       The humble, and simple and strong

       Shall sing with the sons of morning

       And daughters of even-song:

       Black mother of the iron hills that ward the blazing sea,

       Wild spirit of a storm-swept soul, a-struggling to be free,

       Where 'neath the bloody finger-marks thy riven bosom quakes,

       Thicken the thunders of God's Voice and lo! a world awakes!