Let America Be America Again
by Langston Hughes
(1902-1967)
Let America be America
again.
Let it be the dream it used to
be.
Let it be the pioneer on the
plain
Seeking a home where he himself is
free.
(America never was America to
me.)
Let America be the dream the
dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great
strong land of love
Where never kings connive
nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by
one above.
(It never was America to
me.)
O, let my land be a land where
Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic
wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is
free,
Equality is in the air we
breathe.
(There's never been equality
for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the
free.")
Say, who are you that mumbles
in the dark?
And who are you that draws your
veil across the stars?
I am the poor
white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the
Negro bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red
man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant
clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only
the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of
mighty crush the weak.
I am the young
man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in
that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power,
gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of
grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the
men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything
for one's own greed!
I am the farmer,
bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to
the machine.
I am the Negro, servant to you
all.
I am the people, humble, hungry,
mean--
Hungry yet today despite the
dream.
Beaten yet today--O,
Pioneers!
I am the man who never got
ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through
the years.
Yet I'm the one who dreamt
our basic dream
In the Old World while still
a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so
strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its
mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone,
in every furrow turned
That's made America
the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who
sailed those early seas
In search of what I
meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who
left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's
plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn
from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a
"homeland of the free."
The
free?
Who said the free? Not
me?
Surely not me? The millions on relief
today?
The millions shot down when we
strike?
The millions who have nothing for our
pay?
For all the dreams we've
dreamed
And all the songs we've
sung
And all the hopes we've
held
And all the flags we've
hung,
The millions who have nothing for our
pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead
today.
O, let America be America
again--
The land that never has been
yet--
And yet must be--the land where every
man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor
man's, Indian's, Negro's, ME--
Who made
America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith
and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose
plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty
dream again.
Sure, call me any ugly
name you choose--
The steel of freedom does
not stain.
From those who live like leeches
on the people's lives,
We must take back our
land
again,
America!
O,
yes,
I say it
plain,
America never was America to
me,
And yet I swear this
oath--
America will
be!
Out of the rack and ruin of our
gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft,
and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must
redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the
rivers.
The mountains and the endless
plain--
All, all the stretch of these great
green states--
And make America again!
Posted: Wed - July 28, 2004 at 12:58 PM