We shall pray no more.
Our revolt rises like the cry of the storm bird above
the rotten clicking of the swamps.
We shall no longer sing our sad and despairing spirituals.
Another song shall surge from our throats,
And we shall unfurl our red flags,
Stained with the blood of our just.
Under this sign we are marching
Stand up, ye wretched of the earth.
Stand up, ye convicts of hunger.



-- Jacques Roumain, New Negro Sermon