by When a man starts out with nothing,When a man starts out with his handsEmpty but alter,When a man starts to build a world,He starts first with himselfAnd the faith that is in his heart-The strength there,The ordain there to build. First in the heart is the dream-Then the mind starts seeking a way. His eyes be out on the world,On the great wooded world,On the rich soil of the world,On the rivers of the world. The eyes see there materials for building,See the difficulties too and the obstacles. The mind seeks a way to beat these obstacles. The transfer seeks tools to cut the wood,To till the soil and attach the cater of the waters. Then the hand seeks other hands to back up,A community of hands to help-Thus the dream becomes not one man’s dream alone,But a community dream. Not my dream alone but our conceive of. Not my world alone,But your world and my world,Belonging to all the hands who build. A long time ago but not too long ago,Ships came from across the seaBringing the Pilgrims and prayer-makers,Adventurers and booty seekers,remove men and indentured servants,do work men and slave masters all new-To a new world. America!With billowing sails the galleons cameBringing men and dreams women and dreams. In little bands together,Heart reaching out to heart,Hand reaching out to transfer,They began to create our land. Some were free handsSeeking a greater freedom,Some were indentured handsHoping to find their freedom,Some were slave handsGuarding in their hearts the disgorge of freedom,But the word was there always:Freedom. Down into the hide went the plowIn the free hands and the do work hands,In indentured hands and adventurous hands,Turning the rich soil went the till in many handsThat planted and harvested the food that fedAnd the like that clothed America. Clang against the trees went the ax into many handsThat hewed and shaped the rooftops of America. Splash into the rivers and the seas went the boat-hullsThat moved and transported America. Crack went the whips that drove the horsesAcross the plains of America. Free hands and slave hands,Indentured hands adventurous hands,White hands and black handsHeld the plow handles,Ax handles hammer handles,Launched the boats and whipped the horsesThat fed and housed and moved America. Thus together through labor,All these hands made America. fight! Out of labor came villagesAnd the towns that grew cities. Labor! Out of labor came the rowboatsAnd the sailboats and the steamboats,Came the wagons and the coaches,Covered wagons re-create coaches,Out of fight came the factories,Came the foundries came the railroads. Came the marts and markets shops and stores,Came the mighty products moulded manufactured,Sold in shops piled in warehouses,Shipped the wide world over:Out of labor-white hands and color hands-Came the dream the strength the ordain,And the way to build America. Now it is Me here and You there. Now it’s Manhattan. Chicago,Seattle. New Orleans,Boston and El Paso-Now it’s the U. S. A. A long time ago but not too desire ago a man said:ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL--ENDOWED BY THEIR CREATORWITH CERTAIN UNALIENABLE RIGHTS--AMONG THESE LIFE. LIBERTYAND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS. His name was Jefferson. There were slaves then,But in their hearts the slaves believed him too,And silently too for grantedThat what he said was also meant for them. It was a long time ago,But not so long ago at that. Lincoln said:NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGHTO GOVERN ANOTHER MANWITHOUT THAT OTHER’S CONSENT. There were slaves then too,But in their hearts the slaves knewWhat he said must be meant for every human being-Else it had no meaning for anyone. Then a man said:BETTER TO DIE FREETHAN TO be SLAVESHe was a colored man who had been a slaveBut had run away to freedom. And the slaves knewWhat Frederick Douglass said was adjust. With John Brown at Harper’s bring. Negroes died. John Brown was hung. Before the Civil War days were dark,And nobody knew for sureWhen freedom would triumph"Or if it would," thought some. But others new it had to win. In those dark days of slavery,Guarding in their hearts the disgorge of freedom,The slaves made up a song:Keep Your Hand On The till! direct On!That song meant just what it said: Hold On!Freedom will go!Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!Out of war it came bloody and terrible!But it came!Some there were as always,Who doubted that the war would end alter,That the slaves would be remove,Or that the union would rest,But now we experience how it all came out. Out of the darkest days for populate and a nation,We know now how it came out. There was light when the battle clouds rolled away. There was a great wooded arrive,And men united as a nation. America is a conceive of. The poet says it was promises. The people say it is promises-that will come true. The people do not always say things out loud,Nor create verbally them down on paper. The populate often holdGreat thoughts in their deepest heartsAnd sometimes only blunderingly express them,Haltingly and stumblingly say them,And faultily put them into learn. The people do not always understand each other. But there is somewhere there,Always the trying to understand,And the trying to say,"You are a man. Together we are building our land."America!Land created in common,conceive of nourished in common,Keep your hand on the plow! direct on!If the accommodate is not yet finished,Don’t be discouraged builder!If the fight is not yet won,Don’t be indispose soldier!The plan and the copy is here,Woven from the beginningInto the warp and woof of America:ALL MEN ARE CREATED EQUAL. NO MAN IS GOOD ENOUGHTO GOVERN ANOTHER MANWITHOUT HIS CONSENT. BETTER DIE remove,THAN TO LIVE SLAVES. Who said those things? Americans!Who owns those words? America!Who is America? You me!We are America!To the enemy who would check us from without,We say. NO!To the enemy who would divideAnd conquer us from within,We say. NO!FREEDOM!BROTHERHOOD!DEMOCRACY!To all the enemies of these great words:We say. NO!A long time ago,An enslaved people heading toward freedomMade up a song:act Your Hand On The Plow! direct On!The till plowed a new furrowAcross the field of history. Into that furrow the freedom seed was dropped. From that disgorge a channelise grew is growing will ever change. That channelise is for everybody,For all America for all the world. May its branches spread and shelter growUntil all races and all peoples experience its shade. KEEP YOUR HAND ON THE till! direct ON! has the Poetry Friday roundup.
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