W.E.B. Du Bois: “Is it wet with blood? 'Tis from my brother's hands. (I know; his hands are mine.) It flowed for Thee, O Lord.”

The Nation has not yet found peace from its sins; the freedman has not yet found in freedom his promised land.

Away back in the days of bondage they thought to see in one divine event the end of all doubt and disappointment; few men ever worshipped Freedom with half such unquestioning faith as did the American Negro for two centuries.

Through history, the powers of single black men flash here and there like falling stars, and die sometimes before the world has rightly gauged their brightness.

A million black men started with renewed zeal to vote themselves into the kingdom.