“Please sing ’bout the sins, mammy; that’s what I want—’bout the sins.”
The poor old woman crooned on, swaying her body to and fro as she crouched at the bedside:
“Do’ yo’ sins be as skyarlet,
Dey shall be as white as snow—
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Do’ yo’ sins be as skyarlet,
Dey shall be as white as snow—
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
’Tis Jesus is deir Capt’in—