by Paul Laurence Dunbar
The Black Troops In Cuba.
Round the wide earth, from the red field
your valor has won,
Blown with the breath of the far-speaking gun,
Goes the word.
Bravely you spoke through battle cloud heavy
Tossed though the speech toward the mist-
The world heard.
Hell would have shrunk from you seeking it fresh from the fray,
Grim with the dust of the battle, and gray
From the fight.
Heaven would have crowned you, with crowns
not of gold but of bay,
Owning you fit for the light of her day,
Men of night.
Far through the cycle of years and of lives that
There shall speak voices long muffled and dumb,
Out of fear.
And through the noises of trade and the turbu-
Truth shall rise over the militant drum,
Loud and clear
Then on the cheek of the honester nation that
All for their love of you, not for your woes,
There shall lie
Tears that shall not be to your souls as the dew to
Afterward thanks, that the present yet knows
Not to ply!