Martin Luther King Jr. Day Anthology | Page 6

to
see Cato in the light, an' he was all polluted an' vile, like me; an' I said,
'Is it old Sally?' an' then I saw her, an' she seemed jes' so. An' then says
I, 'WHO is this?' An' then, honey, for a while it was like the sun shinin'
in a pail o' water, when it moves up an' down; for I begun to feel 't was
somebody that loved me; an' I tried to know him. An' I said, 'I know
you! I know you! I know you!'--an' then I said, 'I don't know you! I
don't know you! I don't know you!' An' when I said, 'I know you, I
know you,' the light came; an' when I said, 'I don't know you, I don't
know you,' it went, jes' like the sun in a pail o' water. An' finally
somethin' spoke out in me an' said, 'THIS IS JESUS!' An' I spoke out
with all my might, an' says I, 'THIS IS JESUS! Glory be to God!' An'
then the whole world grew bright, an' the trees they waved an' waved in
glory, an' every little bit o' stone on the ground shone like glass; an' I
shouted an' said, 'Praise, praise, praise to the Lord!' An' I begun to feel
such a love in my soul as I never felt before,--love to all creatures. An'
then, all of a sudden, it stopped, an' I said, 'Dar's de white folks, that
have abused you an' beat you an' abused your people,--think o' them!'
But then there came another rush of love through my soul, an' I cried
out loud,--'Lord, Lord, I can love EVEN DE WHITE FOLKS!' "Honey,
I jes' walked round an' round in a dream. Jesus loved me! I knowed
it,--I felt it. Jesus was my Jesus. Jesus would love me always. I didn't
dare tell nobody; 't was a great secret. Everything had been got away

from me that I ever had; an' I thought that ef I let white folks know
about this, maybe they'd get HIM away,--so I said, 'I'll keep this close. I
won't let any one know.'" "But, Sojourner, had you never been told
about Jesus Christ?" "No, honey. I hadn't heerd no preachin',--been to
no meetin'. Nobody hadn't told me. I'd kind o' heerd of Jesus, but
thought he was like Gineral Lafayette, or some o' them. But one night
there was a Methodist meetin' somewhere in our parts, an' I went; an'
they got up an' begun for to tell der 'speriences; an' de fust one begun to
speak. I started, 'cause he told about Jesus. 'Why,' says I to myself, 'dat
man's found him, too!' An' another got up an' spoke, an I said, 'He's
found him, too!' An' finally I said, 'Why, they all know him!' I was so
happy! An' then they sung this hymn": (Here Sojourner sang, in a
strange, cracked voice, but evidently with all her soul and might,
mispronouncing the English, but seeming to derive as much elevation
and comfort from bad English as from good):-- 'There is a holy city, A
world of light above, Above the stairs and regions,* Built by the God
of Love. "An Everlasting temple, And saints arrayed in white There
serve their great Redeemer And dwell with him in light. "The meanest
child of glory Outshines the radiant sun; But who can speak the
splendor Of Jesus on his throne? "Is this the man of sorrows Who stood
at Pilate's bar, Condemned by haughty Herod And by his men of war?
"He seems a mighty conqueror, Who spoiled the powers below, And
ransomed many captives From everlasting woe. "The hosts of saints
around him Proclaim his work of grace, The patriarchs and prophets,
And all the godly race, "Who speak of fiery trials And tortures on their
way; They came from tribulation To everlasting day. "And what shall
be my journey, How long I'll stay below, Or what shall be my trials,
Are not for me to know. "In every day of trouble I'll raise my thoughts
on high, I'll think of that bright temple And crowns above the sky."
* Starry regions.
I put in this whole hymn, because Sojourner, carried away with her
own feeling, sang it from beginning to end with a triumphant energy
that held the whole circle around her intently listening. She sang with
the strong barbaric accent of the native African, and with those
indescribable upward turns and those deep gutturals which give such a
wild, peculiar power to the negro singing,--but above all, with such an
overwhelming energy of personal appropriation that the hymn seemed

to be fused in the furnace of her feelings and come out recrystallized as
a production of her own. It is said that Rachel