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!
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.
OH, de fus' news you know de day'll be a breakin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango! *1)
An' de fier be a burnin' en' de ash-cake a bakin',
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
An' de ho'n 'll be a hollerin' en de boss 'll be a wakin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Better git up, nigger, en give yo'se'f a shakin'—
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
Oh, honey! w'en you see dem ripe stars a fallin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Oh, honey! w'en you year de rain-crow a callin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Oh, honey! w'en you year dat red calf a bawlin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Den de day time's a creepin' en a crawlin'—
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
For de los' ell en yard *2 is a huntin' for de mornin',
(Hi O! git long! go 'way!)
En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in—
(Oh, go 'way, Sindy Ann!)
Oh, honey! w'en you year dat tin horn a tootin'
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Oh, honey, w'en you year de squinch owl a hootin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Oh, honey! w'en you year dem little pigs a rootin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Right den she's a comin' a skippin' en a scootin'—
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
Oh, honey, w'en you year dat roan mule whicker—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
W'en you see Mister Moon turnin' pale en gittin' sicker—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Den hit's time for ter handle dat corn a little quicker—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Ef you wanter git a smell er old Marster's jug er licker—
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
For de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin'
(Hi O! git long! go 'way!)
En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in—
(Oh, go 'way, Sindy Ann!)
You niggers 'cross dar! you better stop your dancin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
No use for ter come a flingin' un yo' "sha'n'ts" in—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
No use for ter come a flingin' un yo' "can't's" in—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Kaze dey ain't no time for yo' pattin' nor yo' prancin'!
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
Mr. Rabbit see de Fox, en he sass um en jaws um—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Mr. Fox ketch de Rabbit, en he scratch um en he claws um—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
En he tar off de hide, en he chaws um en he gnyaws um—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Same like gal chawin' sweet gum en rozzum—
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
For de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin'
(Hi O! git 'long! go 'way!)
En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in—
(Oh, go 'way, Sindy Ann!)
Oh, work on, boys! give doze shucks a mighty wringin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
'Fo' de boss come aroun' a dangin' en a dingin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Git up en move aroun'! set dem big han's ter swingin'—
(Hey O! Hi O! Up'n down de Bango!)
Git up'n shout loud! let de w'ite folks year you singin'!
(Hi O, Miss Sindy Ann!)
For de los' ell en yard is a huntin' for de mornin'
(Hi O! git long! go 'way!)
En she'll ketch up wid dus 'fo' we ever git dis corn in.
(Oh, go 'way Sindy Ann!)
*1 So far as I know, "Bango" is a meaningless term, introduced on account of its sonorous ruggedness. *2 The sword and belt in the constellation of Orion.
NIGGER mighty happy w'en he layin' by co'n—
Dat sun's a slantin';
Nigger mighty happy w'en he year de dinner-ho'n—
Dat sun's a slantin';
En he mo' happy still w'en de night draws on—
Dat sun's a slantin';
Dat sun's a slantin' des ez sho's you bo'n!
En it's rise up, Primus! fetch anudder yell:
Dat ole dun cow's des a shakin' up 'er bell,
En de frogs chunin' up 'fo' de jew done fell:
Good-night, Mr. Killdee! I wish you mighty well!
—Mr. Killdee! I wish you mighty well!
—I wish you mighty well!
Do co'n 'll be ready 'g'inst dumplin' day—
Dat sun's a slantin';
But nigger gotter watch, en stick, en stay—
Dat sun's a slantin';
Same ez de bee-martin watchin' un de jay—
Dat sun's a slantin';
Dat sun's a slantin' en a slippin' away!
Den it's rise up, Primus! en gin it turn strong;
De cow's gwine home wid der ding-dang-dong—
Sling in anudder tetch er de ole-time song:
Good-night, Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long!
—Mr. Whipperwill! don't stay long!
—Don't stay long!
Hi my rinktum! Black gal sweet,
Same like goodies w'at de w'ite folks eat;
Ho my Riley! don't you take'n tell 'er name,
En den ef sumpin' happen you won't ketch de blame;
Hi my rinktum! better take'n hide yo' plum;
Joree don't holler eve'y time he fine a wum.
Den it's hi my rinktum!
Don't git no udder man;
En it's ho my Riley!
Fetch out Miss Dilsey Ann!
Ho my Riley! Yaller gal fine;
She may be yone but she oughter be mine!
Hi my rinktum! Lemme git by,
En see w'at she mean by de cut er dat eye!
Ho my Riley! better shet dat do'—
De w'ite folks 'll bleeve we er t'arin up de flo'.
Den it's ho my Riley!
Come a siftin' up ter me!
En it's hi my rinktum!
Dis de way ter twis' yo' knee!
Hi my rinktum! Ain't de eas' gittin' red?
De squinch owl shiver like he wanter go ter bed;
Ho my Riley! but de gals en de boys,
Des now gittin' so dey kin sorter make a noise.
Hi my rinktum! let de yaller gal lone;
Niggers don't hanker arter sody in de pone.
Den it's hi my rinktum!
Better try anudder plan;
An' it's ho my Riley!
Trot out Miss Dilsey Ann!
Ho my Riley! In de happy Chris'mus time
De niggers shake der cloze a huntin' for a dime.
Hi my rinktum! En den dey shake der feet,
En greaze derse'f wid de good ham meat.
Ho my Riley! dey eat en dey cram,
En bimeby ole Miss 'll be a sendin' out de dram.
Den it's ho my Riley!
You hear dat, Sam!
En it's hi my rinktum!
Be a sendin' out de dram!
HIT'S a gittin' mighty late, w'en de Guinny-hins squall,
En you better dance now, ef you gwineter dance a tall,
Fer by dis time termorrer night you can't hardly crawl,
Kaze you'll hatter take de hoe ag'in en likewise de maul—
Don't you hear dat bay colt a kickin' in his stall?
Stop yo' humpin' up yo' sho'lders do!
Dat'll never do! Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
Hit takes a heap er scrougin'
For ter git you thoo—
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
Ef you niggers don't watch, you'll sing anudder chune,
Fer de sun'll rise'n ketch you ef you don't be mighty soon;
En de stars is gittin' paler, en de ole gray coon
Is a settin' in de grape-vine a watchin' fer de moon.
W'en a feller comes a knockin'
Des holler—Oh, shoo!
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
Oh, swing dat yaller gal!
Do, boys, do!
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
Oh, tu'n me loose! Lemme 'lone! Go way, now!
W'at you speck I come a dancin' fer ef I dunno how?
Deze de ve'y kinder footses w'at kicks up a row;
Can't you jump inter de middle en make yo' gal a bow?
Look at dat merlatter man
A follerin' up Sue;
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
De boys ain't a gwine
W'en you cry boo hoo—
Hop light, ladies,
Oh, Miss Loo!
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-fo',
Christ done open dat He'v'mly do'—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-five,
Christ done made dat dead man alive—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun—
Run home, dat sun done roll—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-six,
Christ is got us a place done fix—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-sev'm
Christ done sot a table in Hev'm
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun—
Run home, dat sun done roll—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-eight,
Christ done make dat crooked way straight—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-nine,
Christ done tu'n dat water inter wine—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun—
Run home, dat sun done roll—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-ten,
Christ is de mo'ner's onliest fr'en'—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-lev'm,
Christ 'll be at de do' w'en we all git ter Hev'm—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun—
Run home, dat sun done roll—
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
*1 If these are adaptations from songs the negroes have caught from the whites, their origin is very remote. I have transcribed them literally, and I regard them as in the highest degree characteristic.
DE ole bee make de honey-comb,
De young bee make de honey,
De niggers make de cotton en co'n,
En de w'ite folks gits de money.
De raccoon he's a cu'us man,
He never walk twel dark,
En nuthin' never 'sturbs his mine,
Twel he hear ole Bringer bark.
De raccoon totes a bushy tail,
De 'possum totes no ha'r,
Mr. Rabbit, he come skippin' by,
He ain't got none ter spar'.
Monday mornin' break er day,
W'ite folks got me gwine,
But Sat'dy night, w'en de sun goes down,
Dat yaller gal's in my mine.
Fifteen poun' er meat a week,
W'isky for ter sell,
Oh, how can a young man stay at home,
Dem gals dey look so well?
Met a 'possum in de road—
Bre' 'Possum, whar you gwine?
I thank my stars, I bless my life,
I'm a huntin' for de muscadine.
DE Big Bethel chu'ch! de Big Bethel chu'ch!
Done put ole Satun behine um;
Ef a sinner git loose fum enny udder chu'ch,
De Big Bethel chu'ch will fine um!
Hit's good ter be dere, en it's sweet ter be dere,
Wid de sisterin' all aroun' you—
A shakin' dem shackles er mussy en' love
Wharwid de Lord is boun' you.
Hit's sweet ter be dere en lissen ter de hymns,
En hear dem mo'ners a shoutin'—
Dey done reach de place whar der ain't no room
Fer enny mo' weepin' en doubtin'.
Hit's good ter be dere w'en de sinners all jine
Wid de brudderin in dere singin',
En it look like Gaberl gwine ter rack up en blow
En set dem heav'm bells ter ringin'!
Oh, de Big Bethel chu'ch! de Big Bethel chu'ch,
Done put ole Satun behine am;
Ef a sinner git loose fum enny udder chu'ch
De Big Bethel chu'ch will fine um!
DAR'S a pow'ful rassle 'twix de Good en de Bad,
En de Bad's got de all—under holt;
En w'en de wuss come, she come i'on-clad,
En you hatter hol' yo' bref for de jolt.
But des todes de las' Good gits de knee-lock,
En dey draps ter de groun'—ker flop!
Good had de inturn, en he stan' like a rock,
En he bleedzd for ter be on top.
De dry wedder breaks wid a big thunder-clap,
For dey ain't no drout' w'at kin las',
But de seasons w'at whoops up de cotton crap,
Likewise dey freshens up de grass.
De rain fall so saf' in de long dark night,
Twel you hatter hol' yo' han' for a sign,
But de drizzle w'at sets de tater-slips right
Is de makin' er de May-pop vine.
In de mellerest groun' de clay root 'll ketch
En hol' ter de tongue er de plow,
En a pine-pole gate at de gyardin-patch
Never 'll keep out de ole brindle cow.
One en all on us knows who's a pullin' at de bits
Like de lead-mule dat g'ides by de rein,
En yit, somehow or nudder, de bestest un us gits
Mighty sick er de tuggin' at de chain.
Hump yo'se'f ter de load en fergit de distress,
En dem w'at stan's by ter scoff,
For de harder de pullin', de longer de res',
En de bigger de feed in de troff.