EXPOSITION NUMBER. NUMBER 48. ATLANTA, GEORGIA. JULY, 1893. Behold in this calm face The modern Sphinx, with such a thoughtful mien As bids us pause, when like a Frankenstein A nation dares create another race. No longer here the crude And unformed features of a savage face ; But in those pleading eyes a kindred race Asks for the highway out of servitude. Like as the Amazon With mighty currents marks the ocean's hue Until her leagues of tide blend with the blue, So do these patient millions still press on. Such at the cradle-side Have crooned as foster-mothers, sung and wept, Across the chamber doors of pain have slept, And for their sisters pale have gladly died. Two hundred weary years Of burden-bearing in a shadowed path, And yet no hand is raised in cruel wrath, And all their wrongs evoke as yet but tears. Study the problem well, For in this Sphinx a message somewhere lies; A nation's glory or its shame may rise From out the reading what these features tell. A. T. Worden, in Judge. THE SENIOR NORMAL CLASS IN ATLANTA UNIVERSITY.—A winter scene. ]
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