Gwine to mourn an' nebber tire ...
Mourn an' nebber tire,
Mourn an' nebber tire,
Dere's a great camp meetin' in de Promised Land."[53]
With longing for that mother who used to carry him upon her back to the dewy fields, where she, setting her babe upon the springing grass at the end of the row, began her daily task with the hoe, returning now and then to give him of her breast; for her whose beaming eyes turned back until the coming of the night, when she again held him in her arms, the slave sang in bitter tears. Her tender help was gone. Father's smile was no more.[54]
"My mother's sick an' my father's dead,
Got nowhere to lay my weary head."
"My mother an' my father both are dead ...
Good Lord, I cannot stay here by myself.
I'm er pore little orphan chile in de worl',