On a hot southern night, some 150 years ago, a weary slave sat before a tar-paper shack and lifted his voice in a song of lament — a mournful, deep song whose words gave expression to the pain of having been taken from home, separated from family, and subjected to slavery. With hurt and longing he sang these words:

Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
A long ways from home.

Sometimes I feel like I'm almos' gone,
Sometimes I feel like I'm almos' gone,
Sometimes I feel like I'm almos' gone,
Way up in de heab'nly land.1

There's a story told of a rookie baseball player just up from the minor leagues who was sent up to bat against the great Hall of Fame pitcher from the St. Louis Cardinals, Bob Gibson, i…