A Song Fluttered Down In The Form

A Crust Of Bread And A Corner To Sleep In. A Minute To Smile And An Hour To Weep In. A Pint Of Joy To A Peck Of Trouble, And Never A Laugh But The Moans Come Double. And That Is Life. A Crust And A Corner That Makes Love Precious, With A Smile To Warm And Tears To Refresh Us, And Joy Seems Sweeter When Cares Come After, And A Moan Is The Finest Of Foils For Laughter. And That Is Life.

The Age Is Materialistic. Verse Isn't. I Must Be With The Age, So I Am Writing Prose.

We Wear The Mask That Grins And Lies, It Hides Our Cheeks And Shades Our Eyes,- - This Debt We Pay To Human Guile; With Torn And Bleeding Hearts We Smile And Mouth With Myriad Subtleties. Why Should The World Be Otherwise, In Counting All Our Tears And Sighs? Nay, Let Them Only See Thus, While We Wear The Mask. We Smile, But, O Great Christ, Our Cries To Thee From Tortured Souls Arise. We Sing, But Oh The Clay Is Vile Beneath Our Feet, And Long The Mile; But Let The World Dream Otherwise, We Wear The Mask!

With Our Short Sight We Affect To Take A Comprehensive View Of Eternity. Our Horizon Is The Universe.

Taking It All In All And After All, Negro Life In Washington Is A Promise Rather Than A Fulfillment. But It Is Worthy Of Note For The Really Excellent Things Which Are Promised