WILL O' THE WISP

Ef de Wul o' de Wust would cuss an' swear
An' take some shape, an' rip an' tear,
It wouldn't sen' col' chills down a nigger's spine
Like de changeable expression of a mystery shine.
An' it ain't by its ghostly self in dat—
No, it ain't by itself in dat.

THE MOLE

De blind mole tunnels straight ahead,
An' he gits whar he gwine wid a trustful tread,
But he nuver is yit got nowhar else,
An' he'll nuver view de skies whar glory melts.
But he ain't by 'isself in dat, in dat—
But he ain't by 'isself in dat.

THE RUNT