Young men who wish to take a scientific course in agriculture but hesitate to do so because they fear their race and color will prevent them from getting sales for their products, should remember that:
The greatest and only food supplier in the world (the earth) is Colored, and that no race of people ever attempts to wean itself from sucking its daily life-giving nourishments from Nature’s nippled breasts just because those breasts are made of the brown colored dust and dirt from which all crops must come.
It was after four, one Friday when We all rejoiced at school-week end, And plans were made for Saturday roves Among the trees of chestnut groves.
And half that night we thought of fun That we would have when day begun; So up we got with early sun To get our chores real quickly done.
The cross-roads by the old mill-dam Was where we formed our happy band Of laughing girls and whistling boys, Who vied their chums in making noise.
Blushing maids in tam-o’-shanters, And teasing lads with roguish banters All romped away one happy crew To where we knew the best nuts grew.
What luck to be a boy or girl, When leaves begin to brown and curl! What joy it is to feel the thrill That’s in the air from hill to hill!
Tramping over knolls and dales, We saw a woods fenced in with rails; And there tree limbs were bending down Thick with burs all big and round.
Then we raced by rocky juts, Until we spied the brownish nuts Peeping down from sticky burs Smooth inside as softest furs.
Boys shook boughs and nuts rained down Rolling over frost-bit ground: Those whose hands the burs did bruise Upon them stamped with heavy shoes.
Some stood on the ground below So their clubs to better throw: Girls with sacks from flour mill Picked enough each bag to fill.
When on a fence we climbed to chat, The top rail broke and down we sat On sticky burs all round about That made us dance as well as pout.
What jolly times we had out there Joking some two as a loving pair, ’Till baskets all were well heaped up, When home we went to get our sup’.
We hid the nuts clear out of sight, To roast or boil some winter night, When coals glowed red within the grate And snow outdoors fell deep and late.
Oh! that I were a youth once more To gather chestnuts as of yore From trees that once had blooming health But long since dead from insects’ stealth.