Oh, a singing wind swept the negro nation;
And on through the backwoods clearing flew:—
“Mumbo-Jumbo is dead in the jungle. |To the tune of “Hark, ten thousand harps and voices.”|
Never again will he hoo-doo you.
Never again will he hoo-doo you.”
Redeemed were the forests, the beasts and the men,
And only the vulture dared again
By the far, lone mountains of the moon
To cry, in the silence, the Congo tune:—
“Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you. |Dying off into a penetrating, terrified whisper.|