“Home Sick.”

Sittin’ by de windo’, Gazin’ at de snow, Up here in de Norf land, No friends dat I know.

Lord, if I was dare! Peaceful, happy Georgia, Tired of de rip an’ tare, Sick ob ways o’ city.

No one hear to talk to, ’Bout de joy I’s seen, Speak ob possum huntin’-- Don’ no what yo’ mean.

Banjo lyin’ idle, Not allow’d to play, People in de nex’ room, Too much noise, da’ say.

Write hum’ fo’ a ticket? Dat ’ould be no use, Sent me one las’ summer, Sole’ it like a goose.

Way too long fo’ walkin’, Snow a fallin’, too, Lord a mercy on me, Wh’t am I to do?

Com’ hear little banjo, Lie close to my ear, I’ll jus’ pic’ yo’ easy, So dem fools can’ hear.

What! you say der postman, Letter he’r fo’ me, No, I jus’ can’ b’leve it, Han’ me; let me see.

Yes dis is her writin’, Ticket too hav’ com’, Com’ on little banjo, Com’, I’m goin’ hom’.

DES FO’ DAY.

When fo’ yeahs yo’ve been er tryin’ ’N’ de thing fo’ wh’t yer tries, Ez yo’ reach yer han’ ter t’ke it, Des mov’s off bufore yer eyes, ’N’ yer thro’ er side yer shovel, Like yer ain’t goin’ wohk no mo’, ’N’ yer wonder whur’s ole Gabr’l, What’s de re’son he don’t blo’; Den yer wan’ ter wohk de harder, Fo’ ise allus he’rd um say, De darkes’ hour, Des fo’ day.

Co’rse its hard ter keep on runnin’, When de stake keeps movin’ ’way, ’N’ ter hav’ er mind fo’ wohkin, When yer think der ain’t no pay, But puhaps when clouds er blackes’, ’N’ der worl’ seems at its wu’s, Dat it all com’s on er pu’pus, Maby it fo’ warnin’ us, Den yer wan’ ter wohk de harder, Fo’ ize allus he’rd um say, De darkes’ hour, Des fo’ day.

MY SOUL’S AT REST.

J’s ’bout d’hk I com’ hom’ ploddin’, Tired and ro’sted from de sun. Tho’ I wo’k f’om mo’nin’ early, Seems m’ tas’ ez never don’; Th’n its wh’n I sit er scowlin’, Dinah smoothes m’ brow ’n’ sa’, Ephr’m yo’s bro’t nothin’ wit’ you’, Chil’ you’ can’t t’ke nothin’ wa’; An’ she re’ch’s me m’ banjo, An’ I lay it cross my bres’, Fo’ my trouble’s all forgotten An’ my soul’s at res’.

Soon de spring com’ on a smilin’ I ’gin frettin’ ’bout de grain, Fo’ my little gard’n parchin’ An’ my crop ez needin’ rain; Th’n its wh’n I sit a scowlin’, Dinah smoothes m’ brow ’n’ say’, Ephr’m you’s bro’t nothin’ wit’ you’, Chile, yo’ can’t t’ke not’in wa’; An’ she re’ch’s me m’ banjo, An’ I lay it cross m’ breast, Fo’ my trouble’s all forgotten, An’ my soul’s at rest.

Som’ des days ’t’ll all be over, I will la me down an’ sleep, Dinah, honey, don’t yo’ worry, Tell de people not to weep. Th’n its w’en I lay a sleepin’, Smooth my bro’ as ol’ an’ sa’, Ephr’m, honey, I will meet yo’, ’Round de throne o’ God som’ da’; T’ke my banjo f’om de ceilin’, La’ it sofly ’cross my bres’, Fo’ my troubles will be over, An’ my soul at rest.

INSPIRATION.

Of’en w’en de race I’m runnin’, Chil’ my feet gits blistered so’ Dat I hav’ a notion fallin’ ’Pears I jus’ can’ run no mo’; Th’n I ’gin to think o’ Lizah, Wit’ a smil’ upon her face Stan’in’ at de gate er waitin’, Jus’ to see me win de race, An’ I start out wit’ new courage, Fo’ to win de race or die. Well I feel jus’ like a feather, Man, I fairly fly.

Der are times w’en courage leav’ me, An’ I thro’ my burden down, Somethin’ sa’s ders no use tryin’, Seems I jus’ don’ wan’ no crown; Th’n I ’gin to think o’ Lizah, An’ I wondah wh’t she’d say, Ef she’d come along an’ fin’ me, In de gutter by de way. An’ I gather up my burden, An’ I start wit’ all my might, Fo’ my limbs at once grow stronger, An’ my load gits light.

Clouds may gath’r dark ez midnight, Matters not de cos’ o’ Fate, All I wan’ to kno’ ez Lizah, Waitin’ fo’ me at de gate; Tho’ns and thistles lose dey terro’, Hill an’ mountains melt er way; Tho’ de worl’ seem dark an’ drary, At de tho’t ’twill turn to day. Fo’ w’en I think o’ Anner Lizah, All de worl’ gits clear an’ bright. An’ my limbs dey grow much stronger, An’ my load gits light.

THE CENTURY’S PRAYER.

Lord God of Hosts incline thine ear, To this Thy humble servant’s prayer; May war and strife and discord cease, This Century, Lord God, give us peace. The thoughts of strife, the curse of war, Henceforth, dear Lord, may we abhor, One blessing more, our store increase, This is our prayer, Lord, give us peace.

May those who rule us, rule with love, As Thou dost rule the Courts above; May man to man as brothers feel, Lay down their arms and quit the field; Change from our brows the angry looks, Turn swords and spears to pruning hooks, One blessing more our store increase, This is our prayer, Lord, give us peace.

May flags of war fore’er be furled, The milk-white flag wave o’er the world; Let not a slave be heard to cry, “The lion and lamb together lie;” May nations meet in one accord, Around one peaceful festive board. One blessing more our store increase, This is our prayer, Lord, give us peace.