Sunday, October 09, 2011


A rarity in his day, S. A. Beadle was a black American lawyer. He moved to Jackson, MS after the Civil War to practice law (and obviously) and to write poetry. I love this poem's way of expressing "from the heart, the mouth speaketh." We've surely all said things we regret. We've all said things (by the grace of God) that someone found helpful in the moment. May our words always be the "bread of life" and never the "cindered dross of hell!"


Words are but leaves to the tree of the mind;
Where breezy fancy plays;
Or echoes from the souls which find
Expression's subtle ways.

A beaming lamp to idea's feet
Where sentinel thought abides;
Or a guide to the soul's retreat,
Where master man presides.

A jewel trembling on the tongue,
The index of the heart;
The black mask from the spirit wrung,
Revealing every part.

A ship upon the sea of life,
With all her sails aswell;
Her cargo being the bread of life,
Or the cindered dross of hell.

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