W.E.B. Du Bois: “But she, looking up and on with radiant face, answered softly: "I come.”

Fully ninety-four per cent have struggled for land and failed, and half of them sit in hopeless serfdom.

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

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.

Years have passed away since then,—ten, twenty, forty; forty years of national life, forty years of renewal and development, and yet the swarthy spectre sits in its accustomed seat at the Nation’s feast.