W.E.B. Du Bois: “At last to us all comes happiness, there in the Court of Peace, where the dead lie so still and calm and good.”

Away with the black man’s ballot, by force or fraud,—and behold the suicide of a race!

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

After the Egyptian and Indian, the Greek and Roman, the Teuton and Mongolian, the Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world,—a world which yields him no true self-consciousness…

In song and exhortation swelled one refrain—Liberty; in his tears and curses the God he implored had Freedom in his right hand.