I Hope There Is Something Worthy In

This, This Indeed Is To Be Accursed, For If We Mortals Love, Or If We Sing, We Count Our Joys Not By What We Have, But By What Kept Us From That Perfect Thing.

You Are Sweet, O Love, Dear Love,you Are Soft As The Nesting Dove.come To My Heart And Bring It Restas The Bird Flies Home To Its Welcome Nest.

People Are Taking It For Granted That [the Negro] Ought Not To Work With His Head. And It Is So Easy For These People Among Whom We Are Living To Believe This; It Flatters And Satisfies Their Self-complacency.

A Crust Of Bread And A Corner To Sleep In. A Minute To Smile And An Hour To Weep In. A Pint Of Joy To A Peck Of Trouble, And Never A Laugh But The Moans Come Double. And That Is Life. A Crust And A Corner That Makes Love Precious, With A Smile To Warm And Tears To Refresh Us, And Joy Seems Sweeter When Cares Come After, And A Moan Is The Finest Of Foils For Laughter. And That Is Life.

Only The Rich Are Lonesome.