Marcus Mosiah Garvey Poems >>
Fire In The Flint

Oh yes, there's fire in the heart of man-
A beast is he when'er it pleases him:
He frowns upon the members of his clan,
And oft the lives of hosts and friends bedim.

A child of God as he was made to be,
He changes soul and character to boot;
And now he hates and kills with license free,
And smiles at all, to rob, to cheat and loot.

Not only does he plunder men for gain,
But prejudices practice 'gainst the weak,
He thus inflicts upon them awful pain,
And forces them to hope, in groanings meek.

The whites are great offenders 'gainst the Blacks;
They steal, they rape, they kill and punish hard
The sons of Ham, and whip them on their backs:
In hope alone they trust their gracious Lord.

To call it mortal sin, is mild rebuke:
It's man's most wicked way of treating man.
To gain the ends, his laws and ways impute
That men are different beings, and not one clan.

The centuries of life have left no seed
Of goodly change toward the helpless weak;
With all the pleas and woes, man fails to heed;
But leaves the bending poor God's grace to seek.

A life for life, is not with men all true;
The strong corrupts, destroys and murders all;
And white men lynch the ones of darker hue,
Who have not rights nor laws on which to call.

And should you doubt the story I do tell,
I ask of you, investigate the facts:
Go South and see the men who live in bell-
Who get the kicks with burdens on their backs.

The mob will make the human skull a ball,
And trample on the fetus of the child:
Oh! this, of crime, is fun, yes, very small!
The "Crackers" think this sport but passing mild.

The fire in the heart of man is hell;
It's flint that burns throughout the night and day;
Yet with such creatures we must always dwell,
And groan, and weep, and die. but have no say.