A Quote by Alexander Laing on birth, hope, revolution, change, and power

For My Grandson

Your blood runs muddled,
My polyglot,
From Dutch and English
And Welsh and Scot;
But to honor you
In this year of shame,
We have named you DAVID
A Jewish name.
Upon your hand--
A scant inch long--
We lay the sense
Of your brother’s wrong.
To this frail case
Of gristle and skin
We trust the fortunes
of all your kin--
Your Negro brother,
Your brother the Jew--
Of all who suffer
From being few.

In cruel times
For a child to share
Your mother has dropped you
Well aware
That flesh must carry
The mind’s high stake,
Since the world we have
Is the world we make.

Let nothing rob you
Of discontent.
Your thin, first protest
Was early spent--
A cradle tempest,
Not loud, not long--
But your puny anger
Will yet be strong;
And we bid you nurse it,
While we nurse you,
To turn on Gentiles
Who hate the Jew,
On gentlemen
Who in pride of race
Would burn black problems
They dare not face.
Poor and lucky,
We can ill afford
A silver spoon
Or a silver cord;
But your name is David--
We bring you, instead,
One smooth flat stone
From the clean brook bed,
And with this for a birthright
May you, at length,
Have little of comfort
Much of strength,
We could wish you homeless
Under a ledge
With a mind that burns
Through the skull’s thin edge--
Better so,
In the steely rain,
Than plump and cozy
In belly and brain.

For there’s work to be done
And all’s not well.
The giants we fostered
Are yours to fell.
The peace we squandered
Is yours to win,
By anger flashed outward
And hate held in.
Let these be single
When each is great;
Anger blown clear
Of the coals of hate--
Keep hate for ideas,
Anger for men,
Now the fools of evil
Are loose again.
And when metals cancel
And wits lock fast
One smooth flat stone
Can win at the last,
Through fear and the will
To master fear
With the sling of David.

The giants are here.

Alexander Laing

Source: given to me on my birth

Contributed by: Dave