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To King
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Son of Africa among of age to thy death,
   Crippled minds doth to thee deceive again
   I call thee faithful, but o me of little faith
Can’st sense thy eye to imagine thee remain.
So fear I have to pleasure thy mind with seam
   With ofteness doubt  of our society rejoice
And feel of none to bless destiny with thy child.
   O, but dwell knee less to thy words ‘I have a dream!’
Forgive me for my nightmares, but my voice
Shall not wonder to thy door of glory.
   For fear is thy mortal, love our softened deed.
But there is still delight and that honor do we bleed.
  Let us dream, o mighty King of dream
And greet thee unto joy if joy I shalln’t bring.