Oh, Lord God of dis glorious Universe. Wilt dou look down in de omnipresence of dy eye upon dese dy collard children bowed upon de knucklebone dis night. Take a solemn peep upon us and let a heap of light in. Dou knowest what dese dy poor darkies need. Dere be Sam, dere be Jerry, and dere be Pompey. Dey are in dere sins, dats what I reckon. Help dem to git up, and git from de wilderness of sin, and come in to de clearing of salvation. Take a solemn peep also upon de darkies in de other cabin, who fiddle and whirl on de bombastic toe, while dy servant fulminates words to dee. May dey rise above the anthratory things of dis world, and fly like massa Linkum’s balloom heavenward. Ruler of all humans on dis earth, wilt dou bress de Generals in de field dis night, if it be circumspection in dy eye. Bress de Colonels in de field dis knight, if it be circumspection in dy discreet eye, and also bress de Union soldiers who carry de musket and chew de cartridge, fightin for de Union and de Stars and Stripes. Dey fight in a scientific cause, and be de bestest of men, but good Lord, mey dey swear less and pray more. And finally bress dy humble servant now supplicating dee in behalf of dese benighted darkies. It behoves dee to dig deep, and sound to de very bottom of his heart. May dere be nary blimmage between myself and my Saviour.
In de language of de mighty Washington, dis world is all a fleetin show. To-day we are alive and hoppin around like grass-hoppers, to-morrow the sickle of death cuts us down, and spreads us out like grass in hay time. On every side dou knowest, oh Lord, is de evidences of de general dislocation and distruction of de human family. Dere be fightin among one another, and natural disease. But we die to live again, either as saints or evil spirits. Dere be discushions on doctrines. Elecshion, Before-ordination, Perfection, and sich like, confuse de intellects of both black men and white. But good Lord, dou knowest dat dese are vain allusions, splittin an dividin dy creatures into sexes without mercy. Whoever will can go to glory. Many dare will be with sleek countenances, white collars and fine clothes, who will find do gates shut against dem, while de blind old woman hobbling on crutches, she go straight in, Amen.
Slave Quarters.
The hearty burst of amens which followed from the hearers, indicated that they were no less satisfied with his “gifts” than the leader himself, whose serene and placid countenance was turned upon us in a most knowing manner, as much as to say, “any white man beat that?”
Contrabands near Acquia Creek.
Several now joined in singing a “hymn,” of which the chorus was—