HIS SONGS
I. REVIVAL HYMN
OH, whar shill we go w'en de great day comes,
Wid de blowin' er de trumpits en de bangin' er de drums?
How many po' sinners'll be kotched out late
En fin' no latch ter de golden gate?
No use fer ter wait twel termorrer!
De sun mus'n't set on yo' sorrer,
Sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier-
Oh, Lord! fetch de mo'ners up higher!
W'en de nashuns er de earf is a stan'in all aroun,
Who's a gwineter be choosen fer ter w'ar de glory-crown?
Who's a gwine fer ter stan' stiff-kneed en bol'.
En answer to der name at de callin' er de roll?
You better come now ef you comin'—
Ole Satun is loose en a bummin'—
De wheels er distruckshun is a hummin'—
Oh, come long, sinner, ef you comin'!
De song er salvashun is a mighty sweet song,
En de Pairidise win' blow fur en blow strong,
En Aberham's bosom, hit's saft en hit's wide,
En right dar's de place whar de sinners oughter hide!
Oh, you nee'nter be a stoppin' en a lookin';
Ef you fool wid ole Satun you'll git took in;
You'll hang on de aidge en get shook in,
Ef you keep on a stoppin' en a lookin'.
De time is right now, en dish yer's de place—
Let de sun er salvashun shine squar' in yo' face;
Fight de battles er de Lord, fight soon en fight late,
En you'll allers fine a latch ter de golden gate.
No use fer ter wait twel termorrer,
De sun musn't set on yo' sorrer—
Sin's ez sharp ez a bamboo-brier,
Ax de Lord fer ter fetch you up higher!
II. CAMP-MEETING SONG *
OH, de worril is roun' en de worril is wide—
Lord! 'member deze chillun in de mornin'—
Hit's a mighty long ways up de mountain side,
En dey ain't no place fer dem sinners fer ter hide,
En dey ain't no place whar sin kin abide,
W'en de Lord shill come in de mornin'!
Look up en look aroun',
Fling yo' burden on de groun',
Hit's a gittin' mighty close on ter mornin'!
Smoove away sin's frown—
Retch up en git de crown,
W'at de Lord will fetch in de mornin'!
De han' er ridem'shun, hit's hilt out ter you—
Lord! 'member dem sinners in de mornin'!
Hit's a mighty pashent han', but de days is but few,
W'en Satun, he'll come a demandin' un his due,
En de stiff-neck sinners 'll be smotin' all fru-
Oh, you better git ready for de mornin'!
Look up en set yo' face
To'ds de green hills of grace
'Fo' de sun rises up in de mornin'—
Oh, you better change yo' base,
Hits yo' soul's las' race
For de glory dat's a comin' in de mornin'!
De farmer gits ready w'en de lan's all plowed
For ter sow dem seeds in de mornin'
De sperrit may be puny en de flesh may be proud,
But you better cut loose fum de scoffin' crowd,
En jine dose Christuns w'at's a cryin' out loud
Fer de Lord fer ter come in de mornin'!
Shout loud en shout long,
Let de eckoes ans'er strong,
W'en de sun rises up in de mornin'!
Oh, you allers will be wrong
Twel you choose ter belong
Ter de Marster w'at's a comin' in de mornin'!
*In the days of slavery, the religious services held by the
negroes who accompanied their owners to the camp-meetings
were marvels of earnestness and devotion.