Morehouse and the Crown Jewel

Lyrics

My hands rest on the grain of this podium.
King Chapel.
October light, thick as honey, through the high windows.
I see you all, before me.
The new cohort.

Let us begin in a basement.
The year is 1867.
Springfield Baptist Church.
William Jefferson White gathers thirty-seven men.
The ledger from those first days is gone, but a note survives.
One student's tuition: two live chickens.
That is the cornerstone.
Not marble. Not endowment.
Two chickens, and a will.

This is the work.
To make men.
To take the raw material of a promise and give it a voice.
The baritone echoes in the rehearsal hall.
The crown jewel of Westview Drive.
This is the work.

We move the campus to this hill.
The buildings take their shape.
On a Tuesday evening, 7:15, the Glee Club warms its voice against the stained glass.
A train whistle cuts through from the Marietta Street yards.
The sound of industry.
And in the class of 1948, a young man, just nineteen.
He is not yet a monument.
He is just Martin.
Learning the geometry of justice.

This is the work.
To make men.
To take the raw material of a promise and give it a voice.
The baritone echoes in the rehearsal hall.
The crown jewel of the Atlanta University Center.
This is the work.

From this podium, I see his face in yours.
I see the quiet resolve of 1867.
I see the chickens and the charter.
I see the boy who would shake the world, sitting where you sit now.
The weight of that quiet... is considerable.

The October light is fading now.
The work continues.
In you.