The Little Black Boy
My
mother
bore
me
in
the
southern
wild,
And
I
am
black,
but
O!
my
soul
is
white;
White
as
an
angel
is
the
English
child:
But
I
am
black
as
if
bereav'd
of
light.
My
mother
taught
me
underneath
a
tree
And
sitting
down
before
the
heat
of
day,
She
took
me
on
her
lap
and
kissed
me,
And
pointing
to
the
east
began
to
say.
Look
on
the
rising
sun:
there
God
does
live
And
gives
his
light,
and
gives
his
heat
away.
And
flowers
and
trees
and
beasts
and
men
receive
Comfort
in
morning
joy
in
the
noonday.
And
we
are
put
on
earth
a
little
space,
That
we
may
learn
to
bear
the
beams
of
love,
And
these
black
bodies
and
this
sun-burnt
face
Is
but
a
cloud,
and
like
a
shady
grove.
For
when
our
souls
have
learn'd
the
heat
to
bear
The
cloud
will
vanish
we
shall
hear
his
voice.
Saying:
come
out
from
the
grove
my
love
&
care,
And
round
my
golden
tent
like
lambs
rejoice.
Thus
did
my
mother
say
and
kissed
me,
And
thus
I
say
to
little
English
boy.
When
I
from
black
and
he
from
white
cloud
free,
And
round
the
tent
of
God
like
lambs
we
joy:
Ill
shade
him
from
the
heat
till
he
can
bear,
To
lean
in
joy
upon
our
fathers
knee.
And
then
I'll
stand
and
stroke
his
silver
hair,
And
be
like
him
and
he
will
then
love
me.
