Little of beauty has America given the world save the rude
grandeur God himself stamped on her bosom; the human
spirit in this new world has expressed itself in vigor and
ingenuity rather than in beauty. And so by fateful chance
the Negro folk-song--the rhythmic cry of the slave--stands
to-day not simply as the sole American music, but as the
most beautiful expression of human experience born this side
the seas. It has been neglected, it has been, and is, half
despised, and above all it has been persistently mistaken and
misunderstood; but notwithstanding, it still remains as the
singular spiritual heritage of the nation and the greatest gift of
the Negro people.
Away back in the thirties the melody of these slave songs
stirred the nation, but the songs were soon half forgotten.
Some, like "Near the lake where drooped the willow," passed
into current airs and their source was forgotten; others were
caricatured on the "minstrel" stage and their memory died
away. Then in war-time came the singular Port Royal experi-
ment after the capture of Hilton Head, and perhaps for the
first time the North met the Southern slave face to face and
heart to heart with no third witness.
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