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My Race


My life were lost, if I should keep
A hope-forlorn and gloomy face,
And brood upon my ills, and weep
And mourn the travail of my race.


Who are my brothers?  Only those
Who wear my own complexion swart?
Ah no, but all through whom there flows
The blood-stream of a manly heart.


Wherever the light of dreams is shed,
And faith and love to toil are bound,
There will I stay to break my bread,
For there my kinsmen will be found.

Written by Leslie Pinckney Hill (1880-1960)

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