Edward Smyth Jones

Edward Smyth Jones was an African American poet born in Natchez, Mississippi, best known for his poem "A Song of Thanks". He faced significant challenges throughout his life, including racial prejudice and economic hardship. His work often reflects his struggles and aspirations, particularly focusing on themes of resilience, hope, and gratitude. Despite his relatively obscure status in literary circles, Jones's contributions are recognized for their emotional depth and historical significance. He passed away in 1968.

March 7, 1881

November 28, 1968

English

Edward Smyth Jones

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A Bouquet

A blossom pink, a blossom blue,
    Make all there is in love so true.
'Tis fit, methinks, my heart to move,
    To give it thee, sweet girl, I love!
Now, take it, dear, this morn and wear
    A wreath of beauty in thy hair;
Think on it, when from bliss we part -
    The emblem of my wooing heart!

Edward Smyth Jones

A Song Of Thanks

For the sun that shone at the dawn of spring,
For the flowers which bloom and the birds that sing,
For the verdant robe of the gray old earth,
For her coffers filled with their countless worth,
For the flocks which feed on a thousand hills,
For the rippling streams which turn the mills,
For the lowing herds in the lovely vale,
For the songs of gladness on the gale, -
From the Gulf and the Lakes to the Oceans' banks, -
Lord God of Hosts, we give Thee thanks!

For the farmer reaping his whitened fields,
For the bounty which the rich soil yields,
For the cooling dews and refreshing rains,
For the sun which ripens the golden grains,
For the beaded wheat and the fattened swine,
For the stallèd ox and the fruitful vine,
For the tubers large and cotton white,

Edward Smyth Jones

A Tribute To Dunbar

The sweetest singer once thou wast, but art no more;
    An elf thou wast of what thou now shalt be,
Where thou art in realms of that celestial shore;
    There thou shalt sing through all eternity.
        We, peerless bard, bewail thy loss
            And shed heart-broken tears,
        Though meekly thou hast borne thy cross
            And winged the flight of years!

Thrice blessed singer, wrapped in heavenly bliss,
    Of earth's poor souls thy fortune who can tell?
Perchance thy splendid lot be solely this:
    To change thy lute with the angel Israfel!
        If so, then smite thy golden strings
            With fingers nimble, strong,
        Till all along fair heaven rings
            With cadence of thy song!

Thee tyrant earth once hel...

Edward Smyth Jones

An Ode To Ethiopia

TO THE ASPIRING NEGRO YOUTH

        After years of patient study and historical research, I have made the following deductions of parts played by the Ethiopian in the annals of history, under the caption, "An Ode to Ethiopia." It is true that questions will rise regarding the racial identity of some of my characters, in view of historical statements which place them with the Caucasian race; yet I firmly believe, were impartial history written, my claims would be justified. However, Time, the great Arbiter, will finally decide the equity of my claims.


I

Thou Sovran Queen of Afric's sunny strands,
    I smite my lyre to sing thy praise unsung;
In strains far sweeter than seraphic bands,
    A lay deep in my bosom's core is sprung.
Fair Queen, although my years as yet be young,
...

Edward Smyth Jones

An Ode To The Soldiers' And Sailors' Monument

Thou most majestic Queen of sculptural art,
    What learnèd architect designed thy throne?
Who traced thy stately form in head and heart,
    And sent the sculptor forth to carve the stone?
O speak, fair Queen, for thou art not alone;
    Ten thousand unseen voices join refrain
That softly floats in one melodious tone,
    As sweet as any ancient harper's strain
    In odes to Indiana's silent victors slain.

Thy court well marks the conquest of the West,
    A citadel sprung out the forest wild,
A mecca where the pilgrims quietly rest:
    Each dame's content - content each sportive child;
The fiery redmen nevermore revile,
    Nor haunt the footprints of thy daring sons,
Whose noble spheres are widening all the while,
    Like as some brilliant star it...

Edward Smyth Jones

Behind The Bars

I am a pilgrim far from home,
    A wanderer like Mars,
And thought my wanderings ne'er should come,
    So fixed behind the bars!

I left my sunny Southern home
    Beneath the silver stars;
A northward path began to roam,
    Not seeking prison bars.

I sought a higher, holier life,
    Which never virtue mars;
But Fate had spun a net of strife
    For me behind the bars!

My mother's lowly thatched-roofed cot
    My nobler senses jars;
And so I seek to aid her lot,
    But not behind the bars!

'Tis said, forsooth, the poet learns
    Through sufferings and wars
To sing the song which deepest burns
    Behind the prison bars!

Thus I resign myself to Fate,
    Regardless of her scars;
For soon she'll op...

Edward Smyth Jones

Dainty Dora

TO D. M. M.


Greeks once sang a lovely song
    To their maiden Cora;
But my lay floats soft along
    To my Dainty Dora.

Frenchmen sing of Anne Belle,
    Romans sang of Flora;
But I sing my song to tell
    Of my Dainty Dora.

Scotchmen sing their songs to move
    Mary or Debora;
But I sing my song of love -
    Love for Dainty Dora.

Poets now a song may give
    Psyche or Lenora;
But I'll sing long as I live
    Just for Dainty Dora!

Edward Smyth Jones

Flag Of The Free

    Flag of the free, our sable sires
        Have borne thee oft before
    Into hot battles' hell-lit fires,
        Against the fiercest foe.
    When first he shook his shaggy mein,
        And made the welkin ring,
    Brave Attucks fell upon the Plain,
        Thy stripes first crimsoning!

    Thy might and majesty we hurl,
        Against the bolts of Mars;
    And from thy ample folds unfurl
        Thy field of flaming stars!
    Fond hope to nations in distress,
        Thy starry gleam shall give;
    The stricken in the wilderness
        Shall look to thee and live.

    What matter if where Boreas roars,
        Or where sweet zephyr smiles?
    What matter if where eagle soars,
        Or in the sunlit isles?
    T...

Edward Smyth Jones

Floating With The Gale

TO MY LOST BROTHER


Ships the angry sea is lashing;
    But I launch my little bark,
Though the thunder peals are crashing,
    And the sea is pitchy dark!
See by lightning's vivid flashing
    How to shift my tattered sail -
Far across the billows dashing,
    I am floating with the gale.

CHORUS

Floating, floating, floating ever
    On the stormy deep blue sea,
Far from father and dear mother
    And, true love, away from thee!
Go, ye zephyrs, sweetly laden,
    Cheer my loved ones in their wail;
Tell my wee sweet bright-eyed maiden
    I am floating with the gale!

When the siren maids are waking,
    And are singing wild sea songs,
Dear, they start my heart to aching,
    For its love to thee belongs.

Edward Smyth Jones

Harvard Square

'Tis once in life our dreams come true,
    The myths of long ago,
Quite real though fairy-like their view,
    They surge with ebb and flow;
Thus thou, O haunt of childhood dreams,
    More beauteous and fair
Than Nature's landscape and her streams,
    Historic Harvard Square.

My soul hath panted long for thee,
    Like as the wounded hart
That vainly strives himself to free
    Full from the archer's dart;
And struggled oft all, all alone
    With burdens hard to bear,
But now I stand at Wisdom's throne
    To-night in Harvard Square.

A night most tranquil, - I was proud
    My thoughts soared up afar,
To moonbeams pouring through the cloud,
    Or some lone twinkling star;
And musing thus, my quickened pace
    Beat to ...

Edward Smyth Jones

Life In A Dream

There is nothing so sweet as our life in our dreams,
    When we soar far on fancy's swift wing;
For a thing in our dreams is all that it seems,
    And the songs are so sweet that we sing.
Ah! the sun shines the brightest, and stars twinkle lightest
    At the moon in her silvery beams!

There is nothing so gay as the life in our dreams,
    With its joy and its laughter and mirth;
For the pleasure that teems is far greater, one deems,
    Than any he finds in the earth.
There are homes are our natal, and nothing is fatal
    In the beautiful land of our dreams!

There is nothing so bright as the life in our dreams,
    Far away from earth's trickery chance;
There the music's wild screams and the wine in its streams
    Are both lost in the song and the ...

Edward Smyth Jones

Lula Johnson's Song

Written in Quinn Chapel, A. M. E. Church, Ninth and Walnut Streets, Louisville, Ky., Wednesday evening, October 16th, 1907, while Miss Lula E. Johnson was singing "Ave Maria."


I have heard the mock-bird singing when the orchards were in bloom,
And the sweetness of his music made the peacock don his plume;
Ay! I've heard cock-robin-redbreast chirping on a sunny day,
And the skylark soaring skywards, merrily sing his festal lay;
And the brown thrush and the bluebird thrill their little treble notes;
All the woodland songsters pouring songs of gladness from their throats -
But not one has touched so deeply, and not one has last so long
As the ever ringing cadence of sweet Lula Johnson's song!

When the breeze has ceased to whisper and the night is soft and still,
Save the awe...

Edward Smyth Jones

Not Yet A Poet

Aye! many a rhyme my pen has flown,
    In oblivion, all unknown;
Still many more, perchance, I say,
    Float on in one unbroken lay -
But ask me naught of where or when,
    Long as they ring in hearts of men!
Dear friend, I say these words to you,
    Which through the ages will be true:
Though I have power to combine
    These subtle rhymes of each sweet line -
Yet, I shall never live to see,
    The title "POET" given me!

Edward Smyth Jones

O God, Wilt Thou Help Me In School?

        I then acted as agent for the "Zion Record," published by Rev. R. A. Adams, 39 St. Catherine Street, Natchez, Miss., until August 20, 1902. Knowing that there was a dormitory to be built for girls at Alcorn, I went there, hoping to get work and to be there when school opened. On arriving, I failed to get employment. I had no money. The Boarding Hall was run by boys who stayed over summer. Finding I was unemployed, they refused to let me take meals with them. There I was - friendless and penniless - without a bite of bread and nowhere to lay my head. To drive the wolf of starvation away and to keep from being devoured, I made arrangements with President Lanier to cut wood for something to eat, until school opened Sept. 2, 1902.

        When school opened, the Faculty met the first day and distributed the positions to the...

Edward Smyth Jones

Put Nothing In Another's Way

Put nothing in another's way,
    Who's plodding on through life,
But fill each heart with joy each day,
    With peace instead of strife.
So then let not a missent word,
    Or thought, or act, or deed
Be by our weaker brother heard
    To cause his heart to bleed.

Put nothing in another's way,
    It clear and ample leave;
For words and actions day by day
    Life's great example weave.
'Tis then not meet that we should think
    That we are solely free
In manners, dress, in food, or drink,
    Or fulsome revelry.

Put nothing in another's way,
    Just learn the Christian part
To let a holy, sunny ray
    Shine in thy brother's heart.
Help him to bear his load of care,
    His soul get edified -
'Twas only for the so...

Edward Smyth Jones

The Bachelor's Song

While I keep my lonely hall,
You are welcome one and all,
As I sing my little song;
Stay, I'll cheer you all day long -
And sow my bachelor-buttons,
And sow my bachelor-buttons.

While this world is wild with glee,
Chime I now my song to thee;
In my bosom lurks no care,
I can loiter everywhere -
And sow my bachelor-buttons,
And sow my bachelor-buttons.

Oh dear, what a happy life
For the man who has no wife,
To bind with sore distresses,
And silk and satin dresses -
While he sows his bachelor-buttons,
While he sows his bachelor-buttons.

His heart is ever merry,
His way is bright and cheery;
No peevish baby crying,
No jealous wife a-sighing -
While he sows his bachelor-buttons,
While he sows his bachelor-button...

Edward Smyth Jones

The End

Though man through life so swiftly wends,
    And o'er its journey runs his race;
Though rough, or smooth, or 'round the bends,
    In distance putting fleetest friend:
Alas! there comes a halting place,
    A place of rest - the journey's end!

Edward Smyth Jones

The Mayor's Ring

I hold a token in my hand,
    A very tiny thing;
And yet within its golden band
    A thousand memories cling.

Aye! thrice ten thousand memories cling
    Of signal victories won,
Enshrined within this little ring,
    Reward of duty done.

I ever shall this token prize,
    And wear it with true grace -
The tie that binds the kindred ties
    Of friendship race to race.

And when I soar full through the skies,
    Yet ever will I cling
Within the gates of Paradise
    This sacred little ring!

Edward Smyth Jones

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