The Birth of a Nation, by Ethel Trew Dunlap
There’s a birth in the earth--
Not that on the screen;
A race is travailing--
It’s emblem is seen.
The shower--the flower:
The blossom has burst,
Sprung, as did Jesus,
From soil they called cursed.
It blooms--it perfumes--
Pressed to Africa’s breast--
That siren who’s calling
The captive to rest.
