Frances Ellen Watkins Harper: Verses about Time

Take sackcloth of the darkest dye,
And shroud the pulpits round!
Servants of Him that cannot lie,
Sit mourning on the ground.

Let holy horror blanch each cheek,
Pale every brow with fears;
And rocks and stones, if ye could speak,
Ye well might melt to tears!

Let sorrow breathe in every tone,
In every strain ye raise;
Insult not God's majestic throne
With th' mockery of praise.

A 'reverend' man, whose light should be
The guide of age and youth,
Brings to the shrine of Slavery
The sacrifice of truth!

For the direst wrong by man imposed,
Since Sodom's fearful cry,
The word of life has been unclos'd,
To give your God the lie.

Oh! When ye pray for heathen lands,
And plead for their dark shores,
Remember Slavery's cruel hands
Make heathens at your doors!

'Twas a fearful night -- the tempest raved
With loud and wrathful pride,
The storm-king harnessed his lightning steeds,
And rode on the raging tide.

The sea-king lay on his bed of death,
Pale mourners around him bent;
They knew the wild and fitful life
Of their chief was almost spent.

His ear was growing dull in death
When the angry storm he heard,
The sluggish blood in the old man's veins
With sudden vigor stirred.

"I hear them call," cried the dying man,
His eyes grew full of light;
"Now bring me here my warrior robes,
My sword and armor bright.

"In the tempest's lull I heard a voice,
I knew 'twas Odin's call.
The Valkyrs are gathering round my bed
To lead me unto his hall.

"Bear me unto my noblest ship,
Light up a funeral pyre;
I'll walk to the palace of the braves
Through a path of flame and fire."

Oh! wild and bright was the stormy light
That flashed from the old man's eye,
As they bore him from the couch of death
To his battle-ship to die,

And lit with many a mournful torch
The sea-king's dying bed,
And like a banner fair and bright
The flames around him spread.

But they heard no cry of anguish
Break through that fiery wall,
With rigid brow and silent lips
He was seeking Odin's hall.

Through a path of fearful splendor,
While strong men held their breath,
The brave old man went boldly forth
And calmly talked with death.

Wail, winds of summer, as ye sweep
The arching skies;
O, let your echoes swell with deep,
Woe-piercing cries!

Old ocean, with a heavy surge,
Cold, black and drear,
Roll thou the solemn note of dirge
On Europe's ear!

Sweet stars, that calmly, purely bright,
Look down below,
O, pity with your eyes of light
A Nation's woe!

Thou source of day, that rollest on
Though tempests frown,
Thou mind'st us of another sun
That has gone down!

Gone down,--no more may mortal eye
Its face behold!
Gone down,--yet leaving on the sky
A tinge of gold!

Ah, yes! Columbia, pause to hear
The note of dread;
'Twill smite like iron on the ear;--
Our Clay is dead!

Our Clay; the patriot, statesman, sage,
The Nation's pride,
With giant minds of every age
Identified!

That form of manliness and strength
In Senate hall,
Is lying at a fearful length
Beneath the pall!

That voice of eloquence no more
Suspends the breath;
Its matchless power to charm is o'er--
'Tis hushed in death!

Thrice noble spirit! can we bow,
And kiss the rod?
With resignation yield thee now
Back to thy God?

And where, where shall we turn to find
Now thou 'rt at rest,
A soul so lofty, just and kind,
As warmed thy breast?

We bear thee, with a flood of tears,
Unto thy tomb;
There thou must sleep till rolling years
Have met their doom!

But thy bright fame and memory
Shall send a chime
From circling ages down to the
Remotest time!

O, may thy mantle fall on some
Of this our day,
And shed upon the years to come
A happy ray!

Methinks I hear those tuneful chimes,
Borne on the breath of morn,
Proclaiming to the silent world
Another Sabbath born.
With solemn sound they echo through
The stilly summer air,
Winning the heart of wayward man
Unto the house of prayer!

New England's sweet church-going bells,
Their memory's very dear;
And oft in dreams we seem to hear
Them ringing loud and clear.
Again we see the village-spire
Pointing toward the skies;
And hear our reverend pastor tell
Of life that never dies!

We see him moving down the aisle,
In light subdued and dim;
The while the organ's swelling notes
Chant forth the grateful hymn.
The forms of those our childhood knew,
By meadow, grove and hill,
Are gathering round with kindly looks,
As if they loved us still!

In careless hours of gladsome youth,
'Twas our thrice-blessed lot,
To dwell upon New England's shores,
Where God is not forgot.
Where temples to his name are raised,
And where, on bended knee,
The Christian sends to heavenly courts
The worship of the free!

New England's Sabbath chimes!--we love
Upon those words to dwell;
They fall upon our spirits with
A sweetly-soothing spell,
Bringing to mind those brighter days
When hope beamed on our way,
And life seemed to our souls but one
Pure and unclouded day!

New England's Sabbath bells!--when last
We heard their merry chime,
The air was rife with pleasant sounds;
For 'twas the glad spring-time!
The robin to those tuneful peals
Poured forth a thrilling strain;
O, 'tis our dearest hope to hear
Those Sabbath bells again!

For now we're many a weary mile
From that New England home;
In lands where laughing summer lies,
Our wandering footsteps roam.
But yet those sweetly-chiming bells
Those heavenward-pointing spires,
Awaken e'er the brightest glow
From memory's vestal-fires.

Outcast from her home in Syria
In the lonely, dreary wild;
Heavy hearted, sorrow stricken,
Sat a mother and her child.

There was not a voice to cheer her
Not a soul to share her fate;
She was weary, he was fainting,
And life seemed so desolate.

Far away in sunny Egypt
Was lone Hagar's native land;
Where the Nile in kingly bounty
Scatters bread with gracious hand.

In the tents of princely Abram
She for years had found a home;
Till the stern decree of Sarah
Sent her forth the wild to roam.

Hour by hour she journeyed onward
From the shelter of their tent,
Till her footsteps slowly faltered
And the water all was spent;

Then she veiled her face in sorrow,
Feared her child would die of thirst
Till her eyes with tears so holden
Saw a sparkling fountain burst.

Oh! how happy was that mother,
What a soothing of her pain;

When she saw her child reviving,
Life rejoicing through each vein

Does not life repeat this story,
Tell it over day by day ?
Of the fountains of refreshment
Ever springing by our way.

Here is one by which we gather,
On this bright and happy day,
Just to bask beside a fountain
Making gladder life's highway.

Bringing unto hearts now aged
Who have borne life's burdens long,
Such a gift of love and mercy
As deserves our sweetest song.

Such a gift that even heaven
May rejoice with us below,
If the pure and holy angels
Join us in our joy and woe.

May the memory of the giver
In this home where age may rest,
Float like fragrance through the ages,
Ever blessing, ever blest. .

When the gates of pearl are opened
May we there this friend behold,
Drink with him from living fountains,
Walk with him the streets of gold.

When life's shattered cords of music
Shall again be sweetly sung;
Then our hearts with life immortal,
Shall be young, forever young.

Maceo dead! a thrill of sorrow
Through our hearts in sadness ran
When we felt in one sad hour
That the world had lost a man.

He had clasped unto his bosom
The sad fortunes of his land --
Held the cause for which he perished
With a firm, unfaltering hand.

On his lips the name of freedom
Fainted with his latest breath.
Cuba Libre was his watchword
Passing through the gates of death.

With the light of God around us,
Why this agony and strife?
With the cross of Christ before us,
Why this fearful waste of life?

Must the pathway unto freedom
Ever mark a crimson line,
And the eyes of wayward mortals
Always close to light divine?

Must the hearts of fearless valor
Fail 'mid crime and cruel wrong,
When the world has read of heroes
Brave and earnest, true and strong?

Men to stay the floods of sorrow
Sweeping round each war-crushed heart;
Men to say to strife and carnage --
From our world henceforth depart.

God of peace and God of nations,
Haste! oh, haste the glorious day

When the reign of our Redeemer
O'er the world shall have its sway.

When the swords now blood encrusted,
Spears that reap the battle field,
Shall be changed to higher service,
Helping earth rich harvests yield.

Where the widow weeps in anguish,
And the orphan bows his head,
Grant that peace and joy and gladness
May like holy angels tread.

Pity, oh, our God the sorrow
Of thy world from thee astray,
Lead us from the paths of madness
Unto Christ the living way.

Year by year the world grows weary
'Neath its weight of sin and strife,
Though the hands once pierced and bleeding
Offer more abundant life.

May the choral song of angels
Heard upon Judea's plain
Sound throughout the earth the tidings
Of that old and sweet refrain.

Till our world, so sad and weary,
Finds the balmy rest of peace --
Peace to silence all her discords --
Peace till war and crime shall cease.

Peace to fall like gentle showers,
Or on parchéd flowers dew,
Till our hearts proclaim with gladness:
Lo, He maketh all things new.

Year after year the artist wrought
With earnest, loving care,
The music flooding all his soul
To pour upon the air.

For this no metal was too rare,
He counted not the cost;
Nor deemed the years in which he toiled
As labor vainly lost.

When morning flushed with crimson light
The golden gates of day,
He longed to fill the air with chimes
Sweet as a matin's lay.

And when the sun was sinking low
Within the distant West,
He gladly heard the bells he wrought
Herald the hour of rest.

The music of a thousand harps
Could never be so dear
As when those solemn chants and thrills
Fell on his list'ning ear.

He poured his soul into their chimes,
And felt his toil repaid;
He called them children of his soul,
His home a'near them made.

But evil days came on apace,
War spread his banner wide,
And from his village snatched away
The artist's love and pride.

At dewy morn and stilly eve
The chimes no more he heard;
With dull and restless agony
His spirit's depths was stirred.

A weary longing filled his soul,
It bound him like a spell;
He left his home to seek the chimes --
The chimes he loved so well.

Where lofty fanes in grandeur rose,
Upon his ear there fell
No music like the long lost chimes
Of his beloved bell.

And thus he wandered year by year.
Touched by the hand of time,
Seeking to hear with anxious heart
Each well remembered chime.

And to that worn and weary heart
There came a glad surcease:
He heard again the dear old chimes,
And smiled and uttered peace.

"The chimes! the chimes!" the old man cried,
"I hear their tones at last;"
A sudden rapture filled his heart,
And all his cares were past.

Yes, peace had come with death's sweet calm,
His journeying was o'er,
The weary, restless wanderer
Had reached the restful shore.

It may be that he met again,
Enfolded in the air,
The dear old chimes beside the gates
Where all is bright and fair;

That he who crossed and bowed his head
When Angelus was sung
In clearer light touched golden harps
By angel fingers strung.

ON REMOVING FROM HER NATIVE VILLAGE.


The golden rays of sunset fall on a snow-clad hill,
As standing by my window I gaze there long and still.
I see a roof and a chimney, and some tall elms standing near,
While the winds that sway their branches bring voices to my ear.

They tell of a darkened hearth-stone, that once shone bright and gay,
And of old familiar faces that have sadly passed away;
How a stranger on the threshold with careless aspect stands,
And gazes on the acres that have passed into his hands.

I shudder, as these voices, so fraught with mournful woe,
Steal on my spirit's hearing, in cadence sad and low,
And think I will not hear them--but, ah! who can control
The gloomy thoughts that enter and brood upon the soul?

So, turning from my window, while darkness deepens round,
And the wailing winds sweep onward with yet more piteous sound,
I feel within my bosom far wilder whirlwinds start,
And sweep the cloudy heaven that bends above my heart.

I have no power to quell them; so let them rage and roar,
The sooner will their raging and fury all be o'er;
I've seen Atlantic's billows 'neath tempests fiercely swell,
But O, the calm succeeding, I have no words to tell!

I think of you, and wonder if you are happy now;
Floats there no shade of sorrow at times across your brow?
When daily tasks are ended, and thought is free to roam,
Doth it not bear you swiftly back to that dear old home?

And then, with wizard fingers, doth Memory open fast
A thrilling panorama of all the changeful past!
Where blending light and shadow skip airy o'er the scene,
Painting in vivid contrast what is and what has been.

And say, does not your mother remember yet with tears
The spot where calm and peaceful have lapsed so many years?
O, would some kindly spirit might give us all to know
How much a tender parent will for a child forego!

We prized your worth while with us; but now you're gone from sight,
We feel 'how blessings brighten while they are taking flight.'
O, don't forget the homestead upon the pleasant hill;
Nor yet the love-lit home you have in all our memories still!

Come, often come to visit the haunts your childhood knew!
We pledge you earnest welcome, unbought, unfeigned and true.
And when before your vision new hopes and pleasure rise,
Turn sometimes with a sunny thought toward your native skies!

Say not the age is hard and cold-
I think it brave and grand;
When men of diverse sects and creeds
Are clasping hand in hand.

The Parsee from his sacred fires
Beside the Christian kneels;
And clearer light to Islam's eyes
The word of Christ reveals.

The Brahmin from his distant home
Brings thoughts of ancient lore;
The Bhuddist breaking bonds of caste
Divides mankind no more.

The meek-eyed sons of far Cathay
Are welcome round the board;
Not greed, nor malice drives away
These children of our Lord.

And Judah from whose trusted hands
Came oracles divine;
Now sits with those around whose hearts
The light of God doth shine.

Japan unbars her long sealed gates
From islands far away;
Her sons are lifting up their eyes
To greet the coming day.

The Indian child from forests wild
Has learned to read and pray;
The tomahawk and scalping knife
From him have passed away.

From centuries of servile toil
The Negro finds release,
And builds the fanes of prayer and praise
Unto the God of Peace.

England and Russia face to face
With Central Asia meet;
And on the far Pacific coast,
Chinese and natives greet.

Crusaders once with sword and shield
The Holy Land to save;
From Moslem hands did strive to clutch
The dear Redeemer's grave.

A battle greater, grander far
Is for the present age;
A crusade for the rights of man
To brighten history's page.

Where labor faints and bows her head,
And want consorts with crime;
Or men grown faithless sadly say
That evil is the time.

There is the field, the vantage ground
For every earnest heart;
To side with justice, truth and right
And act a noble part.

To save from ignorance and vice
The poorest, humblest child;
To make our age the fairest one
On which the sun has smiled;

To plant the roots of coming years
In mercy, love and truth;
And bid our weary, saddened earth
Again renew her youth.

Oh! earnest hearts! toil on in hope,
'Till darkness shrinks from light;
To fill the earth with peace and joy,
Let youth and age unite:

To stay the floods of sin and shame
That sweep from shore to shore;
And furl the banners stained with blood,
'Till war shall be no more.

Blame not the age, nor think it full
Of evil and unrest;
But say of every other age,
'This one shall be the best.'

The age to brighten every path
By sin and sorrow trod;
For loving hearts to usher in
The commonwealth of God.

From Rome's palaces and villas
Gaily issued forth a throng;
From her humbler habitations
Moved a human tide along.

Haughty dames and blooming maidens,
Men who knew not mercy's sway,
Thronged into the Coliseum
On that Roman holiday.

From the lonely wilds of Asia,
From her jungles far away,
From the distant torrid regions,
Rome had gathered beasts of prey.

Lions restless, roaring, rampant,
Tigers with their stealthy tread,
Leopards bright, and fierce, and fiery,
Met in conflict wild and dread.

Fierce and fearful was the carnage
Of the maddened beasts of prey,
As they fought and rent each other
Urged by men more fierce than they.

Till like muffled thunders breaking
On a vast and distant shore,
Fainter grew the yells of tigers,
And the lions' dreadful roar.

On the crimson-stained arena
Lay the victims of the fight;
Eyes which once had glared with anguish,
Lost in death their baleful light.

Then uprose the gladiators
Armed for conflict unto death,
Waiting for the prefect's signal,
Cold and stern with bated breath.

"Ave Caesar, morituri,
Te, salutant," rose the cry
From the lips of men ill-fated,
Doomed to suffer and to die.

Then began the dreadful contest,
Lives like chaff were thrown away,
Rome with all her pride and power
Butchered for a holiday.

Eagerly the crowd were waiting,
Loud the clashing sabres rang;
When between the gladiators
All unarmed a hermit sprang.

"Cease your bloodshed," cried the hermit,
"On this carnage place your ban;"
But with flashing swords they answered,
"Back unto your place, old man."

From their path the gladiators
Thrust the strange intruder back,
Who between their hosts advancing
Calmly parried their attack.

All undaunted by their weapons,
Stood the old heroic man;
While a maddened cry of anger
Through the vast assembly ran.

"Down with him," cried out the people,
As with thumbs unbent they glared,
Till the prefect gave the signal
That his life should not be spared.

Men grew wild with wrathful passion,
When his fearless words were said
Cruelly they fiercely showered
Stones on his devoted head.

Bruised and bleeding fell the hermit,
Victor in that hour of strife;
Gaining in his death a triumph
That he could not win in life.

Had he uttered on the forum
Struggling thoughts within him born,
Men had jeered his words as madness,
But his deed they could not scorn.

Not in vain had been his courage,
Nor for naught his daring deed;
From his grave his mangled body
Did for wretched captives plead.

From that hour Rome, grown more thoughtful,
Ceased her sport in human gore;
And into her Coliseum
Gladiators came no more.

"Tim Thompson, a little negro boy, was asked to dance for the amusement of some white toughs. He refused, saying he was a church member. One of the men knocked him down with a club and then danced upon his prostrate form. He then shot the boy in the hip. The boy is dead; his murderer is still at large." -- News Item.


He lifted up his pleading eyes,
And scanned each cruel face,
Where cold and brutal cowardice
Had left its evil trace.

It was when tender memories
Round Beth'lem's manger lay,
And mothers told their little ones
Of Jesu's natal day.

And of the Magi from the East
Who came their gifts to bring,
And bow in rev'rence at the feet
Of Salem's new-born King.

And how the herald angels sang
The choral song of peace,
That war should close his wrathful lips,
And strife and carnage cease.

At such an hour men well may hush
Their discord and their strife,
And o'er that manger clasp their hands
With gifts to brighten life.

Alas! that in our favored land,
That cruelty and crime
Should cast their shadows o'er a day.
The fairest pearl of time.

A dark-browed boy had drawn anear
A band of savage men,
Just as a hapless lamb might stray
Into a tiger's den.

Cruel and dull, they saw in him
For sport an evil chance,
And then demanded of the child
To give to them a dance.

"Come dance for us," the rough men said;
"I can't," the child replied,
"I cannot for the dear Lord's sake,
Who for my sins once died."

Tho' they were strong and he was weak,
He wouldn't his Lord deny.
His life lay in their cruel hands,
But he for Christ could die.

Heard they aright? Did that brave child
Their mandates dare resist?
Did he against their stern commands
Have courage to insist?

Then recklessly a man arose,
And dealt a fearful blow.
He crushed the portals of that life,
And laid the brave child low.

And trampled on his prostrate form,
As on a broken toy;
Then danced with careless, brutal feet,
Upon the murdered boy.

Christians! behold that martyred child!
His blood cries from the ground;
Before the sleepless eye of God,
He shows each gaping wound.

Oh! Church of Christ arise! arise!
Lest crimson stain thy hand,
When God shall inquisition make
For blood shed in the land.

Take sackcloth of the darkest hue,
And shroud the pulpits round;
Servants of him who cannot lie
Sit mourning on the ground.

Let holy horror blanch each brow,
Pale every cheek with fears,
And rocks and stones, if ye could speak,
Ye well might melt to tears.

Through every fane send forth a cry,
Of sorrow and regret,
Nor in an hour of careless ease
Thy brother's wrongs forget.

Veil not thine eyes, nor close thy lips,
Nor speak with bated breath;
This evil shall not always last,
The end of it is death.

Avert the doom that crime must bring
Upon a guilty land;
Strong in the strength that God supplies,
For truth and justice stand.

For Christless men, with reckless hands,
Are sowing round thy path
The tempests wild that yet shall break
In whirlwinds of God's wrath.

Master only left old Mistus
One bright and handsome boy;
But she fairly doted on him,
He was her pride and joy.

We all liked Mister Thomas,
He was so kind at heart;
And when the young folkes got in scrapes,
He always took their part.

He kept right on that very way
Till he got big and tall,
And old Mistus used to chide him
And say he'd spile us all.

But somehow the farm did prosper
When he took things in hand;
And though all the servants liked him,
He made them understand.

One evening Mister Thomas said,
'Just bring my easy shoes;
I am going to sit by mother,
And read her up the news.'

Soon I heard him tell old Mistus
We're bound to have a fight;
But we'll whip the Yankees, mother,
We'll whip them sure as night!'

Then I saw old Mistus tremble;
She gasped and held her breath;
And she looked on Mister Thomas
With a face as pale as death.

'They are firing on Fort Sumpter;
Oh! I wish that I was there! -
Why, dear mother! what's the matter?
You're the picture of despair.'

'I was thinking, dearest Thomas,
'Twould break my very heart
If a fierce and dreadful battle
Should tear our lives apart.'

'None but cowards, dearest mother,
Would skulk unto the rear,
When the tyrant's hand is shaking
All the heart is holding dear.'

I felt sorry for old Mistus;
She got too full to speak;
But I saw the great big tear-drops
A running down her cheek.

Mister Thomas too was troubled
With choosing on that night,
Betwixt staying with his mother
And joining in the fight.

Soon down into the village came
A call for volunteers;
Mistus gave up Mister Thomas,
With many sighs and tears.

His uniform was real handsome;
He looked so brave and strong;
But somehow I could'nt help thinking
His fighting must be wrong.

Though the house was very lonesome,
I thought 'twould all come right,
For I felt somehow or other
We was mixed up in that fight.

And I said to Uncle Jacob,
'How old Mistus feels the sting,
For this parting with your children
Is a mighty dreadful thing.'

'Never mind,' said Uncle Jacob,
'Just wait and watch and pray,
For I feel right sure and certain,
Slavery's bound to pass away;

'Because I asked the Spirit,
If God is good and just,
How it happened that the masters
Did grind us to the dust.

'And something reasoned right inside,
Such should not always be;
And you could not beat it out my head,
The Spirit spoke to me.'

And his dear old eyes would brighten,
And his lips put on a smile,
Saying, 'Pick up faith and courage,
And just wait a little while.'

Mistus prayed up in the parlor,
That the Secesh all might win;
We were praying in the cabins,
Wanting freedom to begin.

Mister Thomas wrote to Mistus,
Telling 'bout the Bull's Run fight,
That his troops had whipped the Yankees
And put them all to flight.

Mistus' eyes did fairly glisten;
She laughed and praised the South,
But I thought some day she'd laugh
On tother side her mouth.

I used to watch old Mistus' face,
And when it looked quite long
I would say to Cousin Milly,
The battle's going wrong;

Not for us, but for the Rebels. -
My heart would fairly skip,
When Uncle Jacob used to say,
'The North is bound to whip.'

And let the fight go as it would -
Let North or South prevail -
He always kept his courage up,
And never let it fail.

And he often used to tell us,
'Children, don't forget to pray;
For the darkest time of morning
Is just 'fore the break of day.'

Well, one morning bright and early
We heard the fife and drum,
And the booming of the cannon -
The Yankee troops had come.

When the word ran through the village,
The colored folks are free -
In the kitchens and the cabins
We held a jubilee.

When they told us Mister Lincoln
Said that slavery was dead,
We just poured our prayers and blessings
Upon his precious head.

We just laughed, and danced, and shouted
And prayed, and sang, and cried,
And we thought dear Uncle Jacob
Would fairly crack his side.

But when old Mistus heard it,
She groaned and hardly spoke;
When she had to lose her servants,
Her heart was almost broke.

'Twas a sight to see our people
Going out, the troops to meet,
Almost dancing to the music,
And marching down the street.

After years of pain and parting,
Our chains was broke in two,
And we was so mighty happy,
We didn't know what to do.

But we soon got used to freedom,
Though the way at first was rough;
But we weathered through the tempest,
For slavery made us tough.

But we had one awful sorrow,
It almost turned my head,
When a mean and wicked cretur
Shot Mister Lincoln dead.

'Twas a dreadful solemn morning,
I just staggered on my feet;
And the women they were crying
And screaming in the street.

But if many prayers and blessings
Could bear him to the throne,
I should think when Mister Lincoln died,
That heaven just got its own.

Then we had another President, -
What do you call his name?
Well, if the colored folks forget him
They would'nt be much to blame.

We thought he'd be the Moses
Of all the colored race;
But when the Rebels pressed us hard
He never showed his face.

But something must have happened him,
Right curi's I'll be bound,
'Cause I heard 'em talking 'bout a circle
That he was swinging round.

But everything will pass away -
He went like time and tide -
And when the next election came
They let poor Andy slide.

But now we have a President,
And if I was a man
I'd vote for him for breaking up
The wicked Ku-Klux Klan.

And if any man should ask me
If I would sell my vote,
I'd tell him I was not the one
To change and turn my coat;

If freedom seem'd a little rough
I'd weather through the gale;
And as to buying up my vote,
I hadn't it for sale.

I do not think I'd ever be
As slack as Jonas Handy;
Because I heard he sold his vote
For just three sticks of candy.

But when John Thomas Reeder brought
His wife some flour and meat,
And told he had sold his vote
For something good to eat,

You ought to seen Aunt Kitty raise,
And heard her blaze away;
She gave the meat and flour a toss,
And said they should not stay.

And I should think he felt quite cheap
For voting the wrong side;
And when Aunt Kitty scolded him,
He just stood up and cried.

But the worst fooled man I ever saw,
Was when poor David Rand
Sold out for flour and sugar;
The sugar was mixed with sand.

I'll tell you how the thing got out;
His wife had company,
And she thought the sand was sugar,
And served it up for tea.

When David sipped and sipped the tea,
Somehow it didn't taste right;
I guess when he found he was sipping sand
He was mad enough to fight.

The sugar looked so nice and white -
It was spread some inches deep -
But underneath was a lot of sand;
Such sugar is mighty cheap.

You'd laughed to seen Lucinda Grange
Upon her husband's track;
When he sold his vote for rations
She made him take 'em back.

Day after day did Milly Green
Just follow after Joe,
And told him if he voted wrong
To take his rags and go.

I think that Samuel Johnson said
His side had won the day,
Had not we women radicals
Just got right in the way.

And yet I would not have you think
That all our men are shabby;
But 'tis said in every flock of sheep
There will be one that's scabby.

I've heard, before election came
They tried to buy John Slade;
But he gave them all to understand
That he wasn't in that trade.

And we've got lots of other men
Who rally round the cause,
And go for holding up the hands
That gave us equal laws,

Who know their freedom cost too much
Of blood and pain and treasure,
For them to fool away their votes
For profit or for pleasure.

.
I remember, well remember,
.
That dark and dreadful day,
.
When they whispered to me, "Chloe,
.
Your children's sold away!" 1.
It seemed as if a bullet
.
Had shot me through and through,
.
And I felt as if my heart-strings
.
Was breaking right in two. 1.
And I says to cousin Milly,
.

"There must be some mistake;
.

Where's Mistus?" "In the great house crying --
.

Crying like her heart would break. 1.

"And the lawyer's there with Mistus;
.

Says he's come to 'ministrate,
.

'Cause when master died he just left
.

Heap of debt on the estate. 1.

"And I thought 'twould do you good
.

To bid your boys good-bye --
.

To kiss them both and shake their hands,
.

And have a hearty cry. 1.

"Oh! Chloe, I knows how you feel,
.

'Cause I'se been through it all;
.

I thought my poor old heart would break,
.

When master sold my Saul." 1.

Just then I heard the footsteps
.

Of my children at the door,
.

And then I rose right up to meet them,
.

But I fell upon the floor. 1.

And I heard poor Jakey saying,
.

"Oh, mammy, don't you cry!"
.

And I felt my children kiss me
.

And bid me, both, good-bye. 1.

Then I had a mighty sorrow,
.

Though I nursed it all alone;
.

But I wasted to a shadow,
.

And turned to skin and bone. 1.

But one day dear uncle Jacob
.

(In heaven he's now a saint)
.

Said, "Your poor heart is in the fire,
.

But child you must not faint." 1.

Then I said to uncle Jacob,
.

If I was good like you,
.

When the heavy trouble dashed me
.

I'd know just what to do. 1.

Then he said to me, "Poor Chloe,
.

The way is open wide:"
.

And he told me of the Saviour,
.

And the fountain in His side. 1.

Then he said "Just take your burden
.

To the blessed Master's feet;
.

I takes all my troubles, Chloe,
.

Right unto the mercy-seat." 1.

His words waked up my courage,
.

And I began to pray,
.

And I felt my heavy burden
.

Rolling like a stone away. 1.

And a something seemed to tell me,
.

You will see your boys again --
.

And that hope was like a poultice
.

Spread upon a dreadful pain. 1.

And it often seemed to whisper,
.

Chloe, trust and never fear;
.

You'll get justice in the kingdom,
.

If you do not get it here. [2] The Deliverance 2.
Master only left old Mistus
.
One bright and handsome boy;
.
But she fairly doted on him,
.
He was her pride and joy. 2.
We all liked Mister Thomas,
.
He was so kind at heart;
.
And when the young folkes got in scrapes,
.
He always took their part. 2.
He kept right on that very way
.

Till he got big and tall,
.

And old Mistus used to chide him
.

And say he'd spile us all. 2.

But somehow the farm did prosper
.

When he took things in hand;
.

And though all the servants liked him,
.

He made them understand. 2.

One evening Mister Thomas said,
.

"Just bring my easy shoes;
.

I am going to sit by mother,
.

And read her up the news." 2.

Soon I heard him tell old Mistus
.

We're bound to have a fight;
.

But we'll whip the Yankees, mother,
.

We'll whip them sure as night!" 2.

Then I saw old Mistus tremble;
.

She gasped and held her breath;
.

And she looked on Mister Thomas
.

With a face as pale as death. 2.

"They are firing on Fort Sumpter;
.

Oh! I wish that I was there! --
.

Why, dear mother! what's the matter?
.

You're the picture of despair." 2.

"I was thinking, dearest Thomas,
.

'Twould break my very heart
.

If a fierce and dreadful battle
.

Should tear our lives apart." 2.

"None but cowards, dearest mother,
.

Would skulk unto the rear,
.

When the tyrant's hand is shaking
.

All the heart is holding dear." 2.

I felt sorry for old Mistus;
.

She got too full to speak;
.

But I saw the great big tear-drops
.

A running down her cheek. 2.

Mister Thomas too was troubled
.

With choosing on that night,
.

Betwixt staying with his mother
.

And joining in the fight. 2.

Soon down into the village came
.

A call for volunteers;
.

Mistus gave up Mister Thomas,
.

With many sighs and tears. 2.

His uniform was real handsome;
.

He looked so brave and strong;
.

But somehow I could'nt help thinking
.

His fighting must be wrong. 2.

Though the house was very lonesome,
.

I thought 'twould all come right,
.

For I felt somehow or other
.

We was mixed up in that fight. 2.

And I said to Uncle Jacob,
.

"How old Mistus feels the sting,
.

For this parting with your children
.

Is a mighty dreadful thing." 2.

"Never mind," said Uncle Jacob,
.

"Just wait and watch and pray,
.

For I feel right sure and certain,
.

Slavery's bound to pass away; 2.

"Because I asked the Spirit,
.

If God is good and just,
.

How it happened that the masters
.

Did grind us to the dust. 2.

"And something reasoned right inside,
.

Such should not always be;
.

And you could not beat it out my head,
.

The Spirit spoke to me." 2.

And his dear old eyes would brighten,
.

And his lips put on a smile,
.

Saying, "Pick up faith and courage,
.

And just wait a little while." 2.

Mistus prayed up in the parlor,
.

That the Secesh all might win;
.

We were praying in the cabins,
.

Wanting freedom to begin. 2.

Mister Thomas wrote to Mistus,
.

Telling 'bout the Bull's Run fight,
.

That his troops had whipped the Yankees
.

And put them all to flight. 2.

Mistus' eyes did fairly glisten;
.

She laughed and praised the South,
.

But I thought some day she'd laugh
.

On tother side her mouth. 2.

I used to watch old Mistus' face,
.

And when it looked quite long
.

I would say to Cousin Milly,
.

The battle's going wrong; 2.

Not for us, but for the Rebels. --
.

My heart would fairly skip,
.

When Uncle Jacob used to say,
.


"The North is bound to whip." 2.


And let the fight go as it would --
.


Let North or South prevail --
.


He always kept his courage up,
.


And never let it fail. 2.


And he often used to tell us,
.


"Children, don't forget to pray;
.


For the darkest time of morning
.


Is just 'fore the break of day." 2.


Well, one morning bright and early
.


We heard the fife and drum,
.


And the booming of the cannon --
.


The Yankee troops had come. 2.


When the word ran through the village,
.


The colored folks are free --
.


In the kitchens and the cabins
.


We held a jubilee. 2.


When they told us Mister Lincoln
.


Said that slavery was dead,
.


We just poured our prayers and blessings
.


Upon his precious head. 2.


We just laughed, and danced, and shouted
.


And prayed, and sang, and cried,
.


And we thought dear Uncle Jacob
.


Would fairly crack his side. 2.


But when old Mistus heard it,
.


She groaned and hardly spoke;
.


When she had to lose her servants,
.


Her heart was almost broke. 2.


'Twas a sight to see our people
.


Going out, the troops to meet,
.


Almost dancing to the music,
.


And marching down the street. 2.


After years of pain and parting,
.


Our chains was broke in two,
.


And we was so mighty happy,
.


We didn't know what to do. 2.


But we soon got used to freedom,
.


Though the way at first was rough;
.


But we weathered through the tempest,
.


For slavery made us tough. 2.


But we had one awful sorrow,
.


It almost turned my head,
.


When a mean and wicked cretur
.


Shot Mister Lincoln dead. 2.


'Twas a dreadful solemn morning,
.


I just staggered on my feet;
.


And the women they were crying
.


And screaming in the street. 2.


But if many prayers and blessings
.


Could bear him to the throne,
.


I should think when Mister Lincoln died,
.


That heaven just got its own. 2.


Then we had another President, --
.


What do you call his name?
.


Well, if the colored folks forget him
.


They would'nt be much to blame. 2.


We thought he'd be the Moses
.


Of all the colored race;
.


But when the Rebels pressed us hard
.


He never showed his face. 2.


But something must have happened him,
.


Right curi's I'll be bound,
.


'Cause I heard 'em talking 'bout a circle
.


That he was swinging round. 2.


But everything will pass away --
.


He went like time and tide --
.


And when the next election came
.


They let poor Andy slide. 2.


But now we have a President,
.


And if I was a man
.


I'd vote for him for breaking up
.


The wicked Ku-Klux Klan. 2.


And if any man should ask me
.


If I would sell my vote,
.


I'd tell him I was not the one
.


To change and turn my coat; 2.


If freedom seem'd a little rough
.


I'd weather through the gale;
.


And as to buying up my vote,
.


I hadn't it for sale. 2.


I do not think I'd ever be
.


As slack as Jonas Handy;
.


Because I heard he sold his vote
.


For just three sticks of candy. 2.


But when John Thomas Reeder brought
.


His wife some flour and meat,
.


And told he had sold his vote
.


For something good to eat, 2.


You ought to seen Aunt Kitty raise,
.


And heard her blaze away;
.


She gave the meat and flour a toss,
.


And said they should not stay. 2.


And I should think he felt quite cheap
.


For voting the wrong side;
.


And when Aunt Kitty scolded him,
.


He just stood up and cried. 2.


But the worst fooled man I ever saw,
.


Was when poor David Rand
.


Sold out for flour and sugar;
.


The sugar was mixed with sand. 2.


I'll tell you how the thing got out;
.


His wife had company,
.


And she thought the sand was sugar,
.


And served it up for tea. 2.


When David sipped and sipped the tea,
.


Somehow it didn't taste right;
.


I guess when he found he was sipping sand
.


He was mad enough to fight. 2.


The sugar looked so nice and white --
.


It was spread some inches deep --
.


But underneath was a lot of sand;
.


Such sugar is mighty cheap. 2.


You'd laughed to seen Lucinda Grange
.


Upon her husband's track;
.


When he sold his vote for rations
.


She made him take 'em back. 2.


Day after day did Milly Green
.


Just follow after Joe,
.


And told him if he voted wrong
.


To take his rags and go. 2.


I think that Samuel Johnson said
.


His side had won the day,
.


Had not we women radicals
.


Just got right in the way. 2.


And yet I would not have you think
.


That all our men are shabby;
.


But 'tis said in every flock of sheep
.


There will be one that's scabby. 2.


I've heard, before election came
.


They tried to buy John Slade;
.


But he gave them all to understand
.


That he wasn't in that trade. 2.


And we've got lots of other men
.


Who rally round the cause,
.


And go for holding up the hands
.


That gave us equal laws, 2.


Who know their freedom cost too much
.


Of blood and pain and treasure,
.


For them to fool away their votes
.


For profit or for pleasure. [3] Aunt Chloe's Politics 3.
Of course, I don't know very much
.
About these politics,
.
But I think that some who run 'em,
.
Do mighty ugly tricks. 3.
I've seen 'em honey-fugle round,
.
And talk so awful sweet,
.
That you'd think them full of kindness
.
As an egg is full of meat. 3.
Now I don't believe in looking
.

Honest people in the face,
.

And saying when you're doing wrong,
.

That 'I haven't sold my race.' 3.

When we want to school our children,
.

If the money isn't there,
.

Whether black or white have took it,
.

The loss we all must share. 3.

And this buying up each other
.

Is something worse than mean,
.

Though I thinks a heap of voting,
.

I go for voting clean. [4] Learning to Read 4.
Very soon the Yankee teachers
.
Came down and set up school;
.
But, oh! how the Rebs did hate it, --
.
It was agin' their rule. 4.
Our masters always tried to hide
.
Book learning from our eyes;
.
Knowledge did'nt agree with slavery --
.
'Twould make us all too wise. 4.
But some of us would try to steal
.

A little from the book,
.

And put the words together,
.

And learn by hook or crook. 4.

I remember Uncle Caldwell,
.

Who took pot liquor fat
.

And greased the pages of his book,
.

And hid it in his hat. 4.

And had his master ever seen
.

The leaves upon his head,
.

He'd have thought them greasy papers,
.

But nothing to be read. 4.

And there was Mr. Turner's Ben,
.

Who heard the children spell,
.

And picked the words right up by heart,
.

And learned to read 'em well. 4.

Well, the Northern folks kept sending
.

The Yankee teachers down;
.

And they stood right up and helped us,
.

Though Rebs did sneer and frown. 4.

And I longed to read my Bible,
.

For precious words it said;
.

But when I begun to learn it,
.

Folks just shook their heads, 4.

And said there is no use trying,
.

Oh! Chloe, you're too late;
.

But as I was rising sixty,
.

I had no time to wait. 4.

So I got a pair of glasses,
.

And straight to work I went,
.

And never stopped till I could read
.

The hymns and Testament. 4.

Then I got a little cabin
.

A place to call my own --
.

And I felt as independent
.

As the queen upon her throne. [5] Church Building 5.
Uncle Jacob often told us,
.
Since freedom blessed our race
.
We ought all to come together
.
And build a meeting place. 5.
So we pinched, and scraped, and spared,
.
A little here and there:
.
Though our wages was but scanty,
.
The church did get a share. 5.
And, when the house was finished,
.

Uncle Jacob came to pray;
.

He was looking mighty feeble,
.

And his head was awful gray. 5.

But his voice rang like a trumpet;
.

His eyes looked bright and young;
.

And it seemed a mighty power
.

Was resting on his tongue. 5.

And he gave us all his blessing --
.

'Twas parting words he said,
.

For soon we got the message
.

The dear old man was dead. 5.

But I believe he's in the kingdom,
.

For when we shook his hand
.

He said, "Children, you must meet me
.

Right in the promised land; 5.

"For when I done a moiling
.

And toiling here below,
.

Through the gate into the city
.

Straightway I hope to go." [6] The Reunion 6.
Well, one morning real early
.
I was going down the street,
.
And I heard a stranger asking
.
For Missis Chloe Fleet. 6.
There was something in his voice
.
That made me feel quite shaky.
.
And when I looked right in his face,
.
Who should it be but Jakey! 6.
I grasped him tight, and took him home --
.

What gladness filled my cup!
.

And I laughed, and just rolled over,
.

And laughed, and just give up. 6.

"Where have you been? O Jakey, dear!
.

Why didn't you come before?
.

Oh! when you children went away
.

My heart was awful sore." 6.

"Why, mammy, I've been on your hunt
.

Since ever I've been free,
.

And I have heard from brother Ben, --
.

He's down in Tennessee. 6.

"He wrote me that he had a wife,"
.

"And children?" "Yes, he's three."
.

"You married, too?" "Oh, no, indeed,
.

I thought I'd first get free." 6.

"Then, Jakey, you will stay with me,
.

And comfort my poor heart;
.

Old Mistus got no power now
.

To tear us both apart. 6.

"I'm richer now than Mistus,
.

Because I have got my son;
.

And Mister Thomas he is dead,
.

And she's nary one. 6.

"You must write to brother Benny
.

That he must come this fall,
.

And we'll make the cabin bigger,
.

And that will hold us all. 6.

"Tell him I want to see 'em all
.

Before my life do cease:
.

And then, like good old Simeon,
.

I hope to die in peace."