Young Man, Young Man, Your

This Great God, Like A Mammy Bending Over Her Baby, Kneeled Down In The Dust Toiling Over A Lump Of Clay Till He Shaped It In His Own Image.

Any Musical Person Who Has Never Heard A Negro Congregation Under The Spell Of Religious Fervor Sing These Old Songs Has Missed One Of The Most Thrilling Emotions Which The Human Heart May Experience.

The Battle Was First Waged Over The Right Of The Negro To Be Classed As A Human Being With A Soul; Later, As To Whether He Had Sufficient Intellect To Master Even The Rudiments Of Learning; And Today It Is Being Fought Out Over His Social Recognition.

This Country Can Have No More Democracy Than It Accords And Guarantees To The Humblest And Weakest Citizen.

Labor Is The Fabled Magician's Wand, The Philosophers Stone, And The Cap Of Good Fortune.