In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
And all the hopes weve held
Surely not me? The millions on relief today?
The mountains and the endless plain--
O, Im the man who sailed those early seas
O, let America be America again--
The land thats mine--the poor mans, Indians, Negros, ME--
The steel of freedom does not st99lib•netain.
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
I say it plain,
The millions shot down when we strike?
Except the dream thats almost dead today.
From those who live like leeches on the peoples lives,
And all the flags weve hung,
And make Ameri九-九-藏-书-网ca again!
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
America!
And all the songs weve sung
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
For Im the one who left dark Irelands shore,
Who said the free? Not me?
The land that never has been yet--
We must take back our九九藏书 land again,
America will be!
We, the people, must redeem
Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
America never was America to me,
And Polands plain, and Englands grassy lea,
For all the dreams weve dreamed
Must bring b99lib.netack our mighty dream again.
Thats made America the land it has become.
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
Langston Hughes
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
To build a "homeland of the free.&九-九-藏-书-网quot;
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Who made America,
Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
And torn from Black Africas strand I came
And yet I swear this oath--
In search of what I meant to be my home--
The free?
O, yes,