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came,

      Then hasted I with smiles to find it blushing red—

      Too late! Some thoughtless child had plucked my rose and fled!

      FULFILMENT.

      I grew a rose once more to please mine eyes.

      All things to aid it—dew, sun, wind, fair skies—

      Were kindly; and to shield it from despoil,

      I fenced it safely in with grateful toil.

      No other hand than mine shall pluck this flower, said I,

      And I was jealous of the bee that hovered nigh.

      It grew for days; I stood hour after hour

      To watch the slow unfolding of the flower,

      And then I did not leave its side at all,

      Lest some mischance my flower should befall.

      At last, oh joy! the central petals burst apart.

      It blossomed—but, alas! a worm was at its heart!

      SONG

      My heart to thy heart,

      My hand to thine;

      My lip to thy lips,

      Kisses are wine

      Brewed for the lover in sunshine and shade;

      Let me drink deep, then, my African maid.

      Lily to lily,

      Rose unto rose;

      My love to thy love

      Tenderly grows.

      Rend not the oak and the ivy in twain,

      Nor the swart maid from her swarthier swain.

      AN ANTE-BELLUM SERMON

      We is gathahed hyeah, my brothahs,

      In dis howlin’ wildaness,

      Fu’ to speak some words of comfo’t

      To each othah in distress.

      An’ we chooses fu’ ouah subjic’

      Dis—we’ll ‘splain it by an’ by;

      “An’ de Lawd said, ‘Moses, Moses,’

      An’ de man said, ‘Hyeah am I.’”

      Now ole Pher’oh, down in Egypt,

      Was de wuss man evah bo’n,

      An’ he had de Hebrew chillun

      Down dah wukin’ in his co’n;

      ‘T well de Lawd got tiahed o’ his foolin’,

      An’ sez he: “I’ ll let him know—

      Look hyeah, Moses, go tell Pher’oh

      –

      Fu’ to let dem chillun go.”

      “An’ ef he refuse to do it,

      I will make him rue de houah,

      Fu’ I’ll empty down on Egypt

      All de vials of my powah.”

      Yes, he did—an’ Pher’oh’s ahmy

      Wasn’t wuth a ha’f a dime;

      Fu’ de Lawd will he’p his chillun,

      You kin trust him evah time.

      An’ yo’ enemies may ‘sail you

      In de back an’ in de front;

      But de Lawd is all aroun’ you,

      Fu’ to ba’ de battle’s brunt.

      Dey kin fo’ge yo’ chains an’ shackles

      F’om de mountains to de sea;

      But de Lawd will sen’ some Moses

      Fu’ to set his chillun free.

      An’ de lan’ shall hyeah his thundah,

      Lak a blas’ f’om Gab’el’s ho’n,

      Fu’ de Lawd of hosts is mighty

      When he girds his ahmor on.

      But fu’ feah some one mistakes me,

      I will pause right hyeah to say,

      Dat I ‘m still a-preachin’ ancient,

      I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout to-day.

      But I tell you, fellah christuns,

      Things’ll happen mighty strange;

      Now, de Lawd done dis fu’ Isrul,

      An’ his ways don’t nevah change,

      An’ de love he showed to Isrul

      Was n’t all on Isrul spent;

      Now don’t run an’ tell yo’ mastahs

      Dat I’s preachin’ discontent.

      ‘Cause I isn’t; I’se a-judgin’

      Bible people by deir ac’s;

      I ‘se a-givin’ you de Scriptuah,

      I ‘se a-handin’ you de fac’s.

      Cose ole Pher’oh b’lieved in slav’ry,

      But de Lawd he let him see,

      Dat de people he put bref in,—

      Evah mothah’s son was free.

      An’ dahs othahs thinks lak Pher’oh,

      But dey calls de Scriptuah liar,

      Fu’ de Bible says “a servant

      Is a-worthy of his hire.”

      An’ you cain’t git roun’ nor thoo dat,

      An’ you cain’t git ovah it,

      Fu’ whatevah place you git in,

      Dis hyeah Bible too ‘ll fit.

      So you see de Lawd’s intention,

      Evah sence de worl’ began,

      Was dat His almighty freedom

      Should belong to evah man,

      But I think it would be bettah,

      Ef I’d pause agin to say,

      Dat I’m talkin’ ‘bout ouah freedom

      In a Bibleistic way.

      But de Moses is a-comin’,

      An’ he’s comin’, suah and fas’

      We kin hyeah his feet a-trompin’,

      We kin hyeah his trumpit blas’.

      But I want to wa’n you people,

      Don’t you git too brigity;

      An’ don’t you git to braggin’

      ‘Bout dese things, you wait an’ see.

      But when Moses wif his powah

      Comes an’ sets us chillun free,

      We will praise de gracious Mastah.

      Dat has gin us liberty;

      An’ we ‘ll shout ouah halleluyahs,

      On dat mighty reck’nin’ day,

      When we ‘se reco’nised ez citiz’—

      Huh

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