A Prayer in Atlanta

O Silent God, Thou whose voice afar in mist and mystery hath left our ears an-hungered in these fearful days—

O silent God, your voice comes from far away, through mist and mystery. In these fearful days, our ears hunger to hear it.

Listen to us, Thy children: our faces dark with doubt are made a mockery in Thy Sanctuary. With uplifted hands we front Thy Heaven, O God, crying:

Listen to us, your children: our faces, dark with doubt, are mocked in your sanctuary. With raised hands, we face your heaven, God, and cry out:

We are not better than our fellows, Lord; we are but weak and human men. When our devils do deviltry, curse Thou the doer and the deed,—curse them as we curse them, do to them all and more than ever they have done to innocence and weakness, to womanhood and home.

We are no better than our fellow men, Lord. We are only weak and human. When our devils do evil, curse the doer and the deed. Curse them as we curse them. Do to them all and more than they have ever done to the innocent and the weak, to women and homes.

And yet, whose is the deeper guilt? Who made these devils? Who nursed them in crime and fed them on injustice? Who ravished and debauched their mothers and their grandmothers? Who bought and sold their crime and waxed fat and rich on public iniquity?

And yet, who is more guilty? Who made these devils? Who raised them in crime and fed them on injustice? Who raped and corrupted their mothers and grandmothers? Who bought and sold their crime and grew fat and rich from public wrongdoing?

Is this Thy Justice, O Father, that guile be easier than innocence and the innocent be crucified for the guilt of the untouched guilty?

Is this your justice, O Father? Is it easier to deceive than to be innocent? Must the innocent be crucified for the sins of the guilty, who go untouched?

Wherefore do we pray? Is not the God of the Fathers dead? Have not seers seen in Heaven's halls Thine hearsed and lifeless form stark amidst the black and rolling smoke of sin, where all along bow bitter forms of endless dead?

Why do we pray? Is the God of the Fathers not dead? Have not seers seen your lifeless body laid out in Heaven's halls? It lies stark amid the black, rolling smoke of sin, where bitter forms of the endless dead bow all around.

Thou art not dead, but flown afar, up hills of endless light, through blazing corridors of suns, where worlds do swing of good and gentle men, of women strong and free—far from the cozenage, black hypocrisy, and chaste prostitution of this shameful speck of dust!

You are not dead, but have flown far away, up hills of endless light and through blazing corridors of suns. There, worlds of good and gentle men and strong and free women move through space. They are far from the deceit, dark hypocrisy, and chaste prostitution of this shameful speck of dust!

From lust of body and lust of blood,—

From lust for the body and lust for blood,

From lust of power and lust of gold,—

From the hunger for power and gold,

From the leagued lying of despot and of brute,—

From the joined lies of the tyrant and the brute,

A city lay in travail, God our Lord, and from her loins sprang twin Murder and Black Hate. Red was the midnight; clang, crack, and cry of death and fury filled the air and trembled underneath the stars where church spires pointed silently to Thee. And all this was to sate the greed of greedy men who hide behind the veil of vengeance!

A city was in labor, God our Lord, and from her body sprang twins: Murder and Black Hate. Midnight was red. The air rang with the clashing, cracking, and cries of death and fury. The sounds shook beneath the stars, where church spires pointed silently to you. And all this was to satisfy the greed of greedy men who hide behind the veil of vengeance!

In the pale, still morning we looked upon the deed. We stopped our ears and held our leaping hands, but they—did they not wag their heads and leer and cry with bloody jaws: Cease from Crime! The word was mockery, for thus they train a hundred crimes while we do cure one.

In the pale, still morning, we saw what had been done. We covered our ears and held back our eager hands. But did they not shake their heads, leer, and cry out with bloody jaws: Stop Crime! The words were a mockery. For in this way, they foster a hundred crimes while we cure one.

Behold this maimed and broken thing, dear God; it was an humble black man, who toiled and sweat to save a bit from the pittance paid him. They told him: Work and Rise! He worked. Did this man sin? Nay, but someone told how someone said another did—one whom he had never seen nor known. Yet for that man's crime this man lieth maimed and murdered, his wife naked to shame, his children to poverty and evil.

Look at this maimed and broken thing, dear God. He was a humble black man who worked and sweated to save a little from his meager pay. They told him: Work and Rise! He worked. Did this man sin? No. But someone told how someone else said another man had sinned. The black man had never seen or known that man. Yet for that man’s crime, this man lies maimed and murdered. His wife is naked and exposed to shame, and his children face poverty and evil.

Doth not this justice of hell stink in Thy nostrils, O God? How long shall the mounting flood of innocent blood roar in Thine ears and pound in our hearts for vengeance? Pile the pale frenzy of blood-crazed brutes, who do such deeds, high on Thine Altar, Jehovah Jireh, and burn it in hell forever and forever!

Doesn't this justice from hell stink in your nostrils, O God? How long will the rising flood of innocent blood roar in your ears and pound in our hearts, demanding vengeance? Pile the pale frenzy of the blood-crazed brutes who do such deeds high on your altar, Jehovah Jireh. Burn it in hell forever and forever!

Bewildered we are and passion-tossed, mad with the madness of a mobbed and mocked and murdered people; straining at the armposts of Thy throne, we raise our shackled hands and charge Thee, God, by the bones of our stolen fathers, by the tears of our dead mothers, by the very blood of Thy crucified Christ: What meaneth this? Tell us the plan; give us the sign!

We are bewildered and tossed by passion, driven mad by the madness of a people mobbed, mocked, and murdered. Straining against the armrests of your throne, we raise our shackled hands and demand an answer from you, God. We call on the bones of our stolen fathers, the tears of our dead mothers, and the blood of your crucified Christ: What does this mean? Tell us the plan. Give us the sign!

Sit not longer blind, Lord God, deaf to our prayer and dumb to our dumb suffering. Surely Thou, too, art not white, O Lord, a pale, bloodless, heartless thing!

Do not remain blind any longer, Lord God, deaf to our prayer and silent before our voiceless suffering. Surely you, too, are not white, O Lord, a pale, bloodless, heartless thing!

Forgive the thought! Forgive these wild, blasphemous words! Thou art still the God of our black fathers and in Thy Soul's Soul sit some soft darkenings of the evening, some shadowings of the velvet night.

Forgive the thought! Forgive these wild, blasphemous words! You are still the God of our black fathers. And in the soul of your soul are some soft shades of evening, some shadows of the velvet night.

But whisper—speak—call, great God, for Thy silence is white terror to our hearts! The way, O God, show us the way and point us the path!

But whisper, speak, call out, great God, because your silence fills our hearts with white terror! O God, show us the way and point us to the path!

Whither? North is greed and South is blood; within, the coward, and without, the liar. Whither? To death?

Where to? The North is greed and the South is blood. Inside, the coward. Outside, the liar. Where to? To death?

Whither? To life? But not this life, dear God, not this. Let the cup pass from us, tempt us not beyond our strength, for there is that clamoring and clawing within, to whose voice we would not listen, yet shudder lest we must,—and it is red. Ah! God! It is a red and awful shape.

Where are we going? To life? But not this life, dear God, not this one. Let this cup pass from us. Do not test us beyond our strength. For something is clamoring and clawing within us. We do not want to listen to its voice, but we shudder at the thought that we must. And it is red. Ah, God! It is a red and terrible shape.

In yonder East trembles a star.

A star trembles in the eastern sky.

Thy Will, O Lord, be done!

Lord, let your will be done!

Lord, we have done these pleading, wavering words.

Lord, we have finished these pleading, wavering words.

We bow our heads and hearken soft to the sobbing of women and little children.

We bow our heads and listen quietly to the sobbing of women and little children.

Our voices sink in silence and in night.

Our voices fade into silence and darkness.

In night, O God of a godless land!

In the night, O God of a godless land!

In silence, O Silent God.

In silence, silent God.