When a man starts out with nothing,
When a man
starts out with his hands
Empty, but clean,
When a man
starts to
build a world,
He
starts first with himself
And the
faith that is in his heart-
The
strength there,
The will
there to build.
First in the
heart is the dream-
Then the mind
starts seeking a way.
His eyes look out on the world,
On the
great wooded world,
On the rich soil of the world,
On the
rivers of the world.
The eyes see
there materials for building,
See the difficulties, too, and the obstacles.
The mind
seeks a way to
overcome these obstacles.
The hand
seeks tools to cut the wood,
To till the soil, and
harness the
power of the waters.
Then the hand
seeks other
hands to help,
A
community of
hands to help-
Thus the
dream becomes not one man’s
dream alone,
But a
community dream.
Not my
dream alone, but our dream.
Not my
world alone,
But your
world and my world,
Belonging to all the
hands who build.
A long time ago, but not too long ago,
Ships came from
across the sea
Bringing the
Pilgrims and prayer-makers,
Adventurers and
booty seekers,
Free men and
indentured servants,
Slave men and
slave masters, all new-
To a new world, America!
With
billowing sails the
galleons came
Bringing men and dreams,
women and dreams.
In
little bands together,
Heart
reaching out to heart,
Hand
reaching out to hand,
They
began to
build our land.
Some were free hands
Seeking a
greater freedom,
Some were
indentured hands
Hoping to find
their freedom,
Some were
slave hands
Guarding in
their hearts the seed of freedom,
But the word was
there always:
Freedom.
Down into the
earth went the plow
In the free
hands and the
slave hands,
In
indentured hands and
adventurous hands,
Turning the rich soil went the plow in many hands
That
planted and
harvested the food that fed
And the
cotton that
clothed America.
Clang
against the
trees went the ax into many hands
That
hewed and
shaped the
rooftops of America.
Splash into the
rivers and the seas went the boat-hulls
That
moved and
transported America.
Crack went the
whips that
drove the horses
Across the
plains of America.
Free
hands and
slave hands,
Indentured hands,
adventurous hands,
White
hands and
black hands
Held the plow handles,
Ax handles,
hammer handles,
Launched the
boats and
whipped the horses
That fed and
housed and
moved America.
Thus
together through labor,
All
these hands made America.
Labor! Out of
labor came villages
And the
towns that grew cities.
Labor! Out of
labor came the rowboats
And the
sailboats and the steamboats,
Came the wagons, and the coaches,
Covered wagons,
stage coaches,
Out of
labor came the factories,
Came the foundries, came the railroads.
Came the
marts and markets,
shops and stores,
Came the
mighty products moulded, manufactured,
Sold in shops,
piled in warehouses,
Shipped the wide
world over:
Out of labor-white
hands and
black hands-
Came the dream, the strength, the will,
And the way to
build America.
Now it is Me here, and You there.
Now it’s Manhattan, Chicago,
Seattle, New Orleans,
Boston and El Paso-
Now it’s the U.S.A.
A long time ago, but not too long ago, a man said:
ALL
MEN ARE
CREATED EQUAL-
ENDOWED
BY THEIR CREATOR
WITH
CERTAIN UNALIENABLE RIGHTS-
AMONG
THESE LIFE, LIBERTY
AND
THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS.
His name was Jefferson.
There were
slaves then,
But in
their hearts the
slaves believed him, too,
And
silently took for granted
That what he said was also
meant for them.
It was a long time ago,
But not so long ago at that,
Lincoln said:
NO
MAN IS
GOOD ENOUGH
TO
GOVERN ANOTHER MAN
WITHOUT
THAT OTHER’S CONSENT.
There were
slaves then, too,
But in
their hearts the
slaves knew
What he said must be
meant for
every human being-
Else it had no
meaning for anyone.
Then a man said:
BETTER
TO DIE FREE
THAN
TO LIVE SLAVES
He was a
colored man who had been a slave
But had run away to freedom.
And the
slaves knew
What
Frederick Douglass said was true.
With John
Brown at Harper’s Ferry,
Negroes died.
John
Brown was hung.
Before the
Civil War, days were dark,
And
nobody knew for sure
When
freedom would triumph
'Or if it would,'
thought some.
But
others new it had to triumph.
In
those dark days of slavery,
Guarding in
their hearts the seed of freedom,
The
slaves made up a song:
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
That song
meant just what it said: Hold On!
Freedom will come!
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
Out of war it came,
bloody and terrible!
But it came!
Some
there were, as always,
Who
doubted that the war
would end right,
That the
slaves would be free,
Or that the
union would stand,
But now we know how it all came out.
Out of the
darkest days for
people and a nation,
We know now how it came out.
There was
light when the
battle clouds
rolled away.
There was a
great wooded land,
And men
united as a nation.
America is a dream.
The poet says it was promises.
The
people say it is promises-that will come true.
The
people do not
always say
things out loud,
Nor
write them down on paper.
The
people often hold
Great
thoughts in
their deepest hearts
And
sometimes only
blunderingly express them,
Haltingly and
stumblingly say them,
And
faultily put them into practice.
The
people do not
always understand each other.
But
there is,
somewhere there,
Always the
trying to understand,
And the
trying to say,
'You are a man.
Together we are
building our land.'
America!
Land
created in common,
Dream
nourished in common,
Keep your hand on the plow! Hold on!
If the
house is not yet finished,
Don’t be discouraged, builder!
If the
fight is not yet won,
Don’t be weary, soldier!
The plan and the
pattern is here,
Woven from the beginning
Into the warp and woof of America:
ALL
MEN ARE
CREATED EQUAL.
NO
MAN IS
GOOD ENOUGH
TO
GOVERN ANOTHER MAN
WITHOUT
HIS CONSENT.
BETTER
DIE FREE,
THAN
TO LIVE SLAVES.
Who said
those things? Americans!
Who owns
those words? America!
Who is America? You, me!
We are America!
To the
enemy who
would conquer us from without,
We say, NO!
To the
enemy who
would divide
And
conquer us from within,
We say, NO!
FREEDOM!
BROTHERHOOD!
DEMOCRACY!
To all the
enemies of
these great words:
We say, NO!
A long time ago,
An
enslaved people
heading toward freedom
Made up a song:
Keep Your Hand On The Plow! Hold On!
The plow
plowed a new furrow
Across the
field of history.
Into that
furrow the
freedom seed was dropped.
From that seed a tree grew, is growing, will ever grow.
That tree is for everybody,
For all America, for all the world.
May its
branches spread and
shelter grow
Until all
races and all
peoples know its shade.
KEEP
YOUR HAND
ON THE PLOW!
HOLD ON!
Rate this poem:
(0.00 / 0 votes)
