LIFE'S TRAGEDYIt may be misery not to sing at allAnd to go silent through the brimming day.It may be sorrow never to be loved,But deeper griefs than these beset the way.To have come near to sing the perfect songAnd only by a half-tone lost the key,There is the potent sorrow, there the grief,The pale, sad staring of life's tragedy.To have just missed the perfect love,Not the hot passion of untempered youth,But that which lays aside its vanityAnd gives thee, for thy trusting worship, truth—This, this it is to be accursed indeed;For if we mortals love, or if we sing,We count our joys not by the things we have,But by what kept us from the perfect thing.
It may be misery not to sing at allAnd to go silent through the brimming day.It may be sorrow never to be loved,But deeper griefs than these beset the way.
It may be misery not to sing at all
And to go silent through the brimming day.
It may be sorrow never to be loved,
But deeper griefs than these beset the way.
To have come near to sing the perfect songAnd only by a half-tone lost the key,There is the potent sorrow, there the grief,The pale, sad staring of life's tragedy.
To have come near to sing the perfect song
And only by a half-tone lost the key,
There is the potent sorrow, there the grief,
The pale, sad staring of life's tragedy.
To have just missed the perfect love,Not the hot passion of untempered youth,But that which lays aside its vanityAnd gives thee, for thy trusting worship, truth—
To have just missed the perfect love,
Not the hot passion of untempered youth,
But that which lays aside its vanity
And gives thee, for thy trusting worship, truth—
This, this it is to be accursed indeed;For if we mortals love, or if we sing,We count our joys not by the things we have,But by what kept us from the perfect thing.
This, this it is to be accursed indeed;
For if we mortals love, or if we sing,
We count our joys not by the things we have,
But by what kept us from the perfect thing.
DE WAY T'INGS COMEDe way t'ings come, hit seems to me,Is des' one monst'ous mystery;De way hit seem to strike a man,Dey ain't no sense, dey ain't no plan;Ef trouble sta'ts a pilin' down,It ain't no use to rage er frown,It ain't no use to strive er pray,Hit's mortal boun' to come dat way.Now, ef you 's hongry, an' yo' plateDes' keep on sayin' to you, "Wait,"Don't mek no diffunce how you feel,'T won't do no good to hunt a meal,Fu' dat ah meal des' boun' to hideOntwell de devil's satisfied,An' 'twell dey's some'p'n by to cyaveYou 's got to ease yo'se'f an' sta've.But ef dey 's co'n meal on de she'fYou need n't bothah 'roun' yo'se'f,Somebody's boun' to amble inAn' 'vite you to dey co'n meal bin;An' ef you 's stuffed up to be froatWid co'n er middlin', fowl er shoat,Des' look out an' you 'll see fu' shoA 'possum faint befo' yo' do'.De way t'ings happen, huhuh, chile,Dis worl' 's done puzzled me one w'ile;I 's mighty skeered I 'll fall in doubt,I des' won't try to reason outDe reason why folks strive an' planA dinnah fu' a full-fed man,An' shet de do' an' cross de streetF'om one dat raaly needs to eat.
De way t'ings come, hit seems to me,Is des' one monst'ous mystery;De way hit seem to strike a man,Dey ain't no sense, dey ain't no plan;Ef trouble sta'ts a pilin' down,It ain't no use to rage er frown,It ain't no use to strive er pray,Hit's mortal boun' to come dat way.
De way t'ings come, hit seems to me,
Is des' one monst'ous mystery;
De way hit seem to strike a man,
Dey ain't no sense, dey ain't no plan;
Ef trouble sta'ts a pilin' down,
It ain't no use to rage er frown,
It ain't no use to strive er pray,
Hit's mortal boun' to come dat way.
Now, ef you 's hongry, an' yo' plateDes' keep on sayin' to you, "Wait,"Don't mek no diffunce how you feel,'T won't do no good to hunt a meal,Fu' dat ah meal des' boun' to hideOntwell de devil's satisfied,An' 'twell dey's some'p'n by to cyaveYou 's got to ease yo'se'f an' sta've.
Now, ef you 's hongry, an' yo' plate
Des' keep on sayin' to you, "Wait,"
Don't mek no diffunce how you feel,
'T won't do no good to hunt a meal,
Fu' dat ah meal des' boun' to hide
Ontwell de devil's satisfied,
An' 'twell dey's some'p'n by to cyave
You 's got to ease yo'se'f an' sta've.
But ef dey 's co'n meal on de she'fYou need n't bothah 'roun' yo'se'f,Somebody's boun' to amble inAn' 'vite you to dey co'n meal bin;An' ef you 's stuffed up to be froatWid co'n er middlin', fowl er shoat,Des' look out an' you 'll see fu' shoA 'possum faint befo' yo' do'.
But ef dey 's co'n meal on de she'f
You need n't bothah 'roun' yo'se'f,
Somebody's boun' to amble in
An' 'vite you to dey co'n meal bin;
An' ef you 's stuffed up to be froat
Wid co'n er middlin', fowl er shoat,
Des' look out an' you 'll see fu' sho
A 'possum faint befo' yo' do'.
De way t'ings happen, huhuh, chile,Dis worl' 's done puzzled me one w'ile;I 's mighty skeered I 'll fall in doubt,I des' won't try to reason outDe reason why folks strive an' planA dinnah fu' a full-fed man,An' shet de do' an' cross de streetF'om one dat raaly needs to eat.
De way t'ings happen, huhuh, chile,
Dis worl' 's done puzzled me one w'ile;
I 's mighty skeered I 'll fall in doubt,
I des' won't try to reason out
De reason why folks strive an' plan
A dinnah fu' a full-fed man,
An' shet de do' an' cross de street
F'om one dat raaly needs to eat.
NOONShadder in de valleySunlight on de hill,Sut'ny wish dat locus'Knowed how to be still.Don't de heat alreadyMek a body hum,'Dout dat insec' sayin'Hottah days to come?Fiel' 's a shinin' yallerWid de bendin' grain,Guinea hen a callin',Now's de time fu' rain;Shet yo' mouf, you rascal,Wha' 's de use to cry?You do' see no rain cloudsUp dah in de sky.Dis hyeah sweat's been po'in'Down my face sence dawn;Ain't hit time we 's hyeahin'Dat ah dinnah ho'n?Go on, Ben an' Jaspah,Lif yo' feet an' fly,Hit out fu' de shadderFo' I drap an' die.Hongry, lawd a' mussy,Hongry as a baih,Seems lak I hyeah dinnahCallin' evahwhaih;Daih 's de ho'n a blowin'!Let dat cradle swing,One mo' sweep, den da'kies,Beat me to de spring!
Shadder in de valleySunlight on de hill,Sut'ny wish dat locus'Knowed how to be still.Don't de heat alreadyMek a body hum,'Dout dat insec' sayin'Hottah days to come?
Shadder in de valley
Sunlight on de hill,
Sut'ny wish dat locus'
Knowed how to be still.
Don't de heat already
Mek a body hum,
'Dout dat insec' sayin'
Hottah days to come?
Fiel' 's a shinin' yallerWid de bendin' grain,Guinea hen a callin',Now's de time fu' rain;Shet yo' mouf, you rascal,Wha' 's de use to cry?You do' see no rain cloudsUp dah in de sky.
Fiel' 's a shinin' yaller
Wid de bendin' grain,
Guinea hen a callin',
Now's de time fu' rain;
Shet yo' mouf, you rascal,
Wha' 's de use to cry?
You do' see no rain clouds
Up dah in de sky.
Dis hyeah sweat's been po'in'Down my face sence dawn;Ain't hit time we 's hyeahin'Dat ah dinnah ho'n?Go on, Ben an' Jaspah,Lif yo' feet an' fly,Hit out fu' de shadderFo' I drap an' die.
Dis hyeah sweat's been po'in'
Down my face sence dawn;
Ain't hit time we 's hyeahin'
Dat ah dinnah ho'n?
Go on, Ben an' Jaspah,
Lif yo' feet an' fly,
Hit out fu' de shadder
Fo' I drap an' die.
Hongry, lawd a' mussy,Hongry as a baih,Seems lak I hyeah dinnahCallin' evahwhaih;Daih 's de ho'n a blowin'!Let dat cradle swing,One mo' sweep, den da'kies,Beat me to de spring!
Hongry, lawd a' mussy,
Hongry as a baih,
Seems lak I hyeah dinnah
Callin' evahwhaih;
Daih 's de ho'n a blowin'!
Let dat cradle swing,
One mo' sweep, den da'kies,
Beat me to de spring!
AT THE TAVERNA lilt and a swing,And a ditty to sing,Or ever the night grow old;The wine is within,And I 'm sure 't were a sinFor a soldier to choose to be cold, my dear,For a soldier to choose to be cold.We 're right for a spell,But the fever is—well,No thing to be braved, at least;So bring me the wine;No low fever in mine,For a drink is more kind than a priest, my dear,For a drink is more kind than a priest.
A lilt and a swing,And a ditty to sing,Or ever the night grow old;The wine is within,And I 'm sure 't were a sinFor a soldier to choose to be cold, my dear,For a soldier to choose to be cold.
A lilt and a swing,
And a ditty to sing,
Or ever the night grow old;
The wine is within,
And I 'm sure 't were a sin
For a soldier to choose to be cold, my dear,
For a soldier to choose to be cold.
We 're right for a spell,But the fever is—well,No thing to be braved, at least;So bring me the wine;No low fever in mine,For a drink is more kind than a priest, my dear,For a drink is more kind than a priest.
We 're right for a spell,
But the fever is—well,
No thing to be braved, at least;
So bring me the wine;
No low fever in mine,
For a drink is more kind than a priest, my dear,
For a drink is more kind than a priest.
DEATHStorm and strife and stress,Lost in a wilderness,Groping to find a way,Forth to the haunts of daySudden a vista peeps,Out of the tangled deeps,Only a point—the rayBut at the end is day.Dark is the dawn and chill,Daylight is on the hill,Night is the flitting breath,Day rides the hills of death.
Storm and strife and stress,Lost in a wilderness,Groping to find a way,Forth to the haunts of day
Storm and strife and stress,
Lost in a wilderness,
Groping to find a way,
Forth to the haunts of day
Sudden a vista peeps,Out of the tangled deeps,Only a point—the rayBut at the end is day.
Sudden a vista peeps,
Out of the tangled deeps,
Only a point—the ray
But at the end is day.
Dark is the dawn and chill,Daylight is on the hill,Night is the flitting breath,Day rides the hills of death.
Dark is the dawn and chill,
Daylight is on the hill,
Night is the flitting breath,
Day rides the hills of death.
NIGHT, DIM NIGHTNight, dim night, and it rains, my love, it rains,(Art thou dreaming of me, I wonder)The trees are sad, and the wind complains,Outside the rolling of the thunder,And the beat against the panes.Heart, my heart, thou art mournful in the rain,(Are thy redolent lips a-quiver?)My soul seeks thine, doth it seek in vain?My love goes surging like a river,Shall its tide bear naught save pain?
Night, dim night, and it rains, my love, it rains,(Art thou dreaming of me, I wonder)The trees are sad, and the wind complains,Outside the rolling of the thunder,And the beat against the panes.
Night, dim night, and it rains, my love, it rains,
(Art thou dreaming of me, I wonder)
The trees are sad, and the wind complains,
Outside the rolling of the thunder,
And the beat against the panes.
Heart, my heart, thou art mournful in the rain,(Are thy redolent lips a-quiver?)My soul seeks thine, doth it seek in vain?My love goes surging like a river,Shall its tide bear naught save pain?
Heart, my heart, thou art mournful in the rain,
(Are thy redolent lips a-quiver?)
My soul seeks thine, doth it seek in vain?
My love goes surging like a river,
Shall its tide bear naught save pain?
ILove is the light of the world, my dear,Heigho, but the world is gloomy;The light has failed and the lamp down hurled,Leaves only darkness to me.Love is the light of the world, my dear,Ah me, but the world is dreary;The night is down, and my curtain furledBut I cannot sleep, though weary.Love is the light of the world, my dear,Alas for a hopeless hoping,When the flame went out in the breeze that swirled,And a soul went blindly groping.IIThe light was on the golden sands,A glimmer on the sea;My soul spoke clearly to thy soul,Thy spirit answered me.Since then the light that gilds the sands,And glimmers on the sea,But vainly struggles to reflectThe radiant soul of thee.IIIThe sea speaks to me of youAll the day long;Still as I sit by its sideYou are its song.The sea sings to me of youLoud on the reef;Always it moans as it sings,Voicing my grief.IVMy dear love died last night;Shall I clothe her in white?My passionate love is dead,Shall I robe her in red?But nay, she was all untrue,She shall not go drest in blue;Still my desolate love was brave,Unrobed let her go to her grave.VThere are brilliant heights of sorrowThat only the few may know;And the lesser woes of the world, like waves,Break noiselessly, far below.I hold for my own possessing,A mount that is lone and still—The great high place of a hopeless grief,And I call it my "Heart-break Hill."And once on a winter's midnightI found its highest crown,And there in the gloom, my soul and I,Weeping, we sat us down.But now when I seek that summitWe are two ghosts that go;Only two shades of a thing that died,Once in the long ago.So I sit me down in the silence,And say to my soul, "Be still,"So the world may not know we died that night,From weeping on "Heart-break Hill."
Love is the light of the world, my dear,Heigho, but the world is gloomy;The light has failed and the lamp down hurled,Leaves only darkness to me.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Heigho, but the world is gloomy;
The light has failed and the lamp down hurled,
Leaves only darkness to me.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,Ah me, but the world is dreary;The night is down, and my curtain furledBut I cannot sleep, though weary.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Ah me, but the world is dreary;
The night is down, and my curtain furled
But I cannot sleep, though weary.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,Alas for a hopeless hoping,When the flame went out in the breeze that swirled,And a soul went blindly groping.
Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Alas for a hopeless hoping,
When the flame went out in the breeze that swirled,
And a soul went blindly groping.
The light was on the golden sands,A glimmer on the sea;My soul spoke clearly to thy soul,Thy spirit answered me.
The light was on the golden sands,
A glimmer on the sea;
My soul spoke clearly to thy soul,
Thy spirit answered me.
Since then the light that gilds the sands,And glimmers on the sea,But vainly struggles to reflectThe radiant soul of thee.
Since then the light that gilds the sands,
And glimmers on the sea,
But vainly struggles to reflect
The radiant soul of thee.
The sea speaks to me of youAll the day long;Still as I sit by its sideYou are its song.
The sea speaks to me of you
All the day long;
Still as I sit by its side
You are its song.
The sea sings to me of youLoud on the reef;Always it moans as it sings,Voicing my grief.
The sea sings to me of you
Loud on the reef;
Always it moans as it sings,
Voicing my grief.
My dear love died last night;Shall I clothe her in white?My passionate love is dead,Shall I robe her in red?But nay, she was all untrue,She shall not go drest in blue;Still my desolate love was brave,Unrobed let her go to her grave.
My dear love died last night;
Shall I clothe her in white?
My passionate love is dead,
Shall I robe her in red?
But nay, she was all untrue,
She shall not go drest in blue;
Still my desolate love was brave,
Unrobed let her go to her grave.
There are brilliant heights of sorrowThat only the few may know;And the lesser woes of the world, like waves,Break noiselessly, far below.I hold for my own possessing,A mount that is lone and still—The great high place of a hopeless grief,And I call it my "Heart-break Hill."And once on a winter's midnightI found its highest crown,And there in the gloom, my soul and I,Weeping, we sat us down.
There are brilliant heights of sorrow
That only the few may know;
And the lesser woes of the world, like waves,
Break noiselessly, far below.
I hold for my own possessing,
A mount that is lone and still—
The great high place of a hopeless grief,
And I call it my "Heart-break Hill."
And once on a winter's midnight
I found its highest crown,
And there in the gloom, my soul and I,
Weeping, we sat us down.
But now when I seek that summitWe are two ghosts that go;Only two shades of a thing that died,Once in the long ago.So I sit me down in the silence,And say to my soul, "Be still,"So the world may not know we died that night,From weeping on "Heart-break Hill."
But now when I seek that summit
We are two ghosts that go;
Only two shades of a thing that died,
Once in the long ago.
So I sit me down in the silence,
And say to my soul, "Be still,"
So the world may not know we died that night,
From weeping on "Heart-break Hill."
A BOY'S SUMMER SONG'Tis fine to playIn the fragrant hay,And romp on the golden load;To ride old JackTo the barn and back,Or tramp by a shady road.To pause and drink,At a mossy brink;Ah, that is the best of joy,And so I sayOn a summer's day,What's so fine as being a boy?Ha, Ha!With line and hookBy a babbling brook,The fisherman's sport we ply;And list the songOf the feathered throngThat flit in the branches nigh.At last we stripFor a quiet dip;Ah, that is the best of joy.For this I sayOn a summer's day,What's so fine as being a boy?Ha, Ha!
'Tis fine to playIn the fragrant hay,And romp on the golden load;To ride old JackTo the barn and back,Or tramp by a shady road.To pause and drink,At a mossy brink;Ah, that is the best of joy,And so I sayOn a summer's day,What's so fine as being a boy?Ha, Ha!
'Tis fine to play
In the fragrant hay,
And romp on the golden load;
To ride old Jack
To the barn and back,
Or tramp by a shady road.
To pause and drink,
At a mossy brink;
Ah, that is the best of joy,
And so I say
On a summer's day,
What's so fine as being a boy?
Ha, Ha!
With line and hookBy a babbling brook,The fisherman's sport we ply;And list the songOf the feathered throngThat flit in the branches nigh.At last we stripFor a quiet dip;Ah, that is the best of joy.For this I sayOn a summer's day,What's so fine as being a boy?Ha, Ha!
With line and hook
By a babbling brook,
The fisherman's sport we ply;
And list the song
Of the feathered throng
That flit in the branches nigh.
At last we strip
For a quiet dip;
Ah, that is the best of joy.
For this I say
On a summer's day,
What's so fine as being a boy?
Ha, Ha!
THE SAND-MANI know a manWith face of tan,But who is ever kind;Whom girls and boysLeaves games and toysEach eventide to find.When day grows dim,They watch for him,He comes to place his claim;He wears the crownOf Dreaming-town;The sand-man is his name.When sparkling eyesTroop sleepywiseAnd busy lips grow dumb;When little headsNod toward the beds,We know the sand-man's come.
I know a manWith face of tan,But who is ever kind;Whom girls and boysLeaves games and toysEach eventide to find.
I know a man
With face of tan,
But who is ever kind;
Whom girls and boys
Leaves games and toys
Each eventide to find.
When day grows dim,They watch for him,He comes to place his claim;He wears the crownOf Dreaming-town;The sand-man is his name.
When day grows dim,
They watch for him,
He comes to place his claim;
He wears the crown
Of Dreaming-town;
The sand-man is his name.
When sparkling eyesTroop sleepywiseAnd busy lips grow dumb;When little headsNod toward the beds,We know the sand-man's come.
When sparkling eyes
Troop sleepywise
And busy lips grow dumb;
When little heads
Nod toward the beds,
We know the sand-man's come.
JOHNNY SPEAKSThe sand-man he's a jolly old fellow,His face is kind and his voice is mellow,But he makes your eyelids as heavy as lead,And then you got to go off to bed;I don't think I like the sand-man.But I've been playing this livelong day;It does make a fellow so tired to play!Oh, my, I'm a-yawning right here before ma,I'm the sleepiest fellow that ever you saw.I think I do like the sand-man.
The sand-man he's a jolly old fellow,His face is kind and his voice is mellow,But he makes your eyelids as heavy as lead,And then you got to go off to bed;I don't think I like the sand-man.
The sand-man he's a jolly old fellow,
His face is kind and his voice is mellow,
But he makes your eyelids as heavy as lead,
And then you got to go off to bed;
I don't think I like the sand-man.
But I've been playing this livelong day;It does make a fellow so tired to play!Oh, my, I'm a-yawning right here before ma,I'm the sleepiest fellow that ever you saw.I think I do like the sand-man.
But I've been playing this livelong day;
It does make a fellow so tired to play!
Oh, my, I'm a-yawning right here before ma,
I'm the sleepiest fellow that ever you saw.
I think I do like the sand-man.
WINTER-SONGOh, who would be sad tho' the sky be a-graying,And meadow and woodlands are empty and bare;For softly and merrily now there come playing,The little white birds thro' the winter-kissed air.The squirrel's enjoying the rest of the thrifty,He munches his store in the old hollow tree;Tho' cold is the blast and the snow-flakes are driftyHe fears the white flock not a whit more than we.Chorus:Then heigho for the flying snow!Over the whitened roads we go,With pulses that tingle,And sleigh-bells a-jingleFor winter's white birds here's a cheery heigho!
Oh, who would be sad tho' the sky be a-graying,And meadow and woodlands are empty and bare;For softly and merrily now there come playing,The little white birds thro' the winter-kissed air.
Oh, who would be sad tho' the sky be a-graying,
And meadow and woodlands are empty and bare;
For softly and merrily now there come playing,
The little white birds thro' the winter-kissed air.
The squirrel's enjoying the rest of the thrifty,He munches his store in the old hollow tree;Tho' cold is the blast and the snow-flakes are driftyHe fears the white flock not a whit more than we.
The squirrel's enjoying the rest of the thrifty,
He munches his store in the old hollow tree;
Tho' cold is the blast and the snow-flakes are drifty
He fears the white flock not a whit more than we.
Then heigho for the flying snow!Over the whitened roads we go,With pulses that tingle,And sleigh-bells a-jingleFor winter's white birds here's a cheery heigho!
Then heigho for the flying snow!
Over the whitened roads we go,
With pulses that tingle,
And sleigh-bells a-jingle
For winter's white birds here's a cheery heigho!
A CHRISTMAS FOLKSONGDe win' is blowin' wahmah,An hit's blowin' f'om de bay;Dey's a so't o' mist a-risin'All erlong de meddah way;Dey ain't a hint o' frostin'On de groun' ner in de sky,An' dey ain't no use in hopin'Dat de snow'll 'mence to fly.It's goin' to be a green Christmas,An' sad de day fu' me.I wish dis was de las' oneDat evah I should see.Dey's dancin' in de cabin,Dey's spahkin' by de tree;But dancin' times an' spahkin'Are all done pas' fur me.Dey's feastin' in de big house,Wid all de windahs wide—Is dat de way fu' peopleTo meet de Christmas-tide?It's goin' to be a green Christmas,No mattah what you say.Dey's us dat will remembahAn' grieve de comin' day.Dey's des a bref o' dampnessA-clingin' to my cheek;De aih's been dahk an' heavyAn' threatenin' fu' a week,But not wid signs o' wintah,Dough wintah'd seem so deah—De wintah's out o' season,An' Christmas eve is heah.It's goin' to be a green Christmas,An' oh, how sad de day!Go ax de hongry chu'chya'd,An' see what hit will say.Dey's Allen on de hillside,An' Marfy in de plain;Fu' Christmas was like springtime,An' come wid sun an' rain.Dey's Ca'line, John, an' Susie,Wid only dis one lef':An' now de curse is comin'Wid murder in hits bref.It's goin' to be a green Christmas—Des hyeah my words an' see:Befo' de summah beckonsDey's many 'll weep wid me.
De win' is blowin' wahmah,An hit's blowin' f'om de bay;Dey's a so't o' mist a-risin'All erlong de meddah way;Dey ain't a hint o' frostin'On de groun' ner in de sky,An' dey ain't no use in hopin'Dat de snow'll 'mence to fly.It's goin' to be a green Christmas,An' sad de day fu' me.I wish dis was de las' oneDat evah I should see.
De win' is blowin' wahmah,
An hit's blowin' f'om de bay;
Dey's a so't o' mist a-risin'
All erlong de meddah way;
Dey ain't a hint o' frostin'
On de groun' ner in de sky,
An' dey ain't no use in hopin'
Dat de snow'll 'mence to fly.
It's goin' to be a green Christmas,
An' sad de day fu' me.
I wish dis was de las' one
Dat evah I should see.
Dey's dancin' in de cabin,Dey's spahkin' by de tree;But dancin' times an' spahkin'Are all done pas' fur me.Dey's feastin' in de big house,Wid all de windahs wide—Is dat de way fu' peopleTo meet de Christmas-tide?It's goin' to be a green Christmas,No mattah what you say.Dey's us dat will remembahAn' grieve de comin' day.
Dey's dancin' in de cabin,
Dey's spahkin' by de tree;
But dancin' times an' spahkin'
Are all done pas' fur me.
Dey's feastin' in de big house,
Wid all de windahs wide—
Is dat de way fu' people
To meet de Christmas-tide?
It's goin' to be a green Christmas,
No mattah what you say.
Dey's us dat will remembah
An' grieve de comin' day.
Dey's des a bref o' dampnessA-clingin' to my cheek;De aih's been dahk an' heavyAn' threatenin' fu' a week,But not wid signs o' wintah,Dough wintah'd seem so deah—De wintah's out o' season,An' Christmas eve is heah.It's goin' to be a green Christmas,An' oh, how sad de day!Go ax de hongry chu'chya'd,An' see what hit will say.
Dey's des a bref o' dampness
A-clingin' to my cheek;
De aih's been dahk an' heavy
An' threatenin' fu' a week,
But not wid signs o' wintah,
Dough wintah'd seem so deah—
De wintah's out o' season,
An' Christmas eve is heah.
It's goin' to be a green Christmas,
An' oh, how sad de day!
Go ax de hongry chu'chya'd,
An' see what hit will say.
Dey's Allen on de hillside,An' Marfy in de plain;Fu' Christmas was like springtime,An' come wid sun an' rain.Dey's Ca'line, John, an' Susie,Wid only dis one lef':An' now de curse is comin'Wid murder in hits bref.It's goin' to be a green Christmas—Des hyeah my words an' see:Befo' de summah beckonsDey's many 'll weep wid me.
Dey's Allen on de hillside,
An' Marfy in de plain;
Fu' Christmas was like springtime,
An' come wid sun an' rain.
Dey's Ca'line, John, an' Susie,
Wid only dis one lef':
An' now de curse is comin'
Wid murder in hits bref.
It's goin' to be a green Christmas—
Des hyeah my words an' see:
Befo' de summah beckons
Dey's many 'll weep wid me.
THE FOREST GREETINGGood hunting!—aye, good hunting,Wherever the forests call;But ever a heart beats hot with fear,And what of the birds that fall?Good hunting!—aye, good hunting,Wherever the north winds blow;But what of the stag that calls for his mate?And what of the wounded doe?Good hunting!—aye, good hunting;And ah! we are bold and strong;But our triumph call through the forest hallIs a brother's funeral song.For we are brothers ever,Panther and bird and bear;Man and the weakest that fear his face,Born to the nest or lair.Yes, brothers, and who shall judge us?Hunters and game are we;But who gave the right for me to smite?Who boasts when he smiteth me?Good hunting!—aye, good hunting,And dim is the forest track;But the sportsman Death comes striding on:Brothers, the way is black.
Good hunting!—aye, good hunting,Wherever the forests call;But ever a heart beats hot with fear,And what of the birds that fall?
Good hunting!—aye, good hunting,
Wherever the forests call;
But ever a heart beats hot with fear,
And what of the birds that fall?
Good hunting!—aye, good hunting,Wherever the north winds blow;But what of the stag that calls for his mate?And what of the wounded doe?
Good hunting!—aye, good hunting,
Wherever the north winds blow;
But what of the stag that calls for his mate?
And what of the wounded doe?
Good hunting!—aye, good hunting;And ah! we are bold and strong;But our triumph call through the forest hallIs a brother's funeral song.
Good hunting!—aye, good hunting;
And ah! we are bold and strong;
But our triumph call through the forest hall
Is a brother's funeral song.
For we are brothers ever,Panther and bird and bear;Man and the weakest that fear his face,Born to the nest or lair.
For we are brothers ever,
Panther and bird and bear;
Man and the weakest that fear his face,
Born to the nest or lair.
Yes, brothers, and who shall judge us?Hunters and game are we;But who gave the right for me to smite?Who boasts when he smiteth me?
Yes, brothers, and who shall judge us?
Hunters and game are we;
But who gave the right for me to smite?
Who boasts when he smiteth me?
Good hunting!—aye, good hunting,And dim is the forest track;But the sportsman Death comes striding on:Brothers, the way is black.
Good hunting!—aye, good hunting,
And dim is the forest track;
But the sportsman Death comes striding on:
Brothers, the way is black.
THE LILY OF THE VALLEYSweetest of the flowers a-bloomingIn the fragrant vernal daysIs the Lily of the ValleyWith its soft, retiring ways.Well, you chose this humble blossomAs the nurse's emblem flower,Who grows more like her idealEvery day and every hour.Like the Lily of the ValleyIn her honesty and worth,Ah, she blooms in truth and virtueIn the quiet nooks of earth.Tho' she stands erect in honorWhen the heart of mankind bleeds,Still she hides her own deservingIn the beauty of her deeds.In the silence of the darknessWhere no eye may see and know,There her footsteps shod with mercy,And fleet kindness come and go.Not amid the sounds of plaudits,Nor before the garish day,Does she shed her soul's sweet perfume,Does she take her gentle way.But alike her ideal flower,With its honey-laden breath,Still her heart blooms forth its beautyIn the valley shades of death.
Sweetest of the flowers a-bloomingIn the fragrant vernal daysIs the Lily of the ValleyWith its soft, retiring ways.
Sweetest of the flowers a-blooming
In the fragrant vernal days
Is the Lily of the Valley
With its soft, retiring ways.
Well, you chose this humble blossomAs the nurse's emblem flower,Who grows more like her idealEvery day and every hour.
Well, you chose this humble blossom
As the nurse's emblem flower,
Who grows more like her ideal
Every day and every hour.
Like the Lily of the ValleyIn her honesty and worth,Ah, she blooms in truth and virtueIn the quiet nooks of earth.
Like the Lily of the Valley
In her honesty and worth,
Ah, she blooms in truth and virtue
In the quiet nooks of earth.
Tho' she stands erect in honorWhen the heart of mankind bleeds,Still she hides her own deservingIn the beauty of her deeds.
Tho' she stands erect in honor
When the heart of mankind bleeds,
Still she hides her own deserving
In the beauty of her deeds.
In the silence of the darknessWhere no eye may see and know,There her footsteps shod with mercy,And fleet kindness come and go.
In the silence of the darkness
Where no eye may see and know,
There her footsteps shod with mercy,
And fleet kindness come and go.
Not amid the sounds of plaudits,Nor before the garish day,Does she shed her soul's sweet perfume,Does she take her gentle way.
Not amid the sounds of plaudits,
Nor before the garish day,
Does she shed her soul's sweet perfume,
Does she take her gentle way.
But alike her ideal flower,With its honey-laden breath,Still her heart blooms forth its beautyIn the valley shades of death.
But alike her ideal flower,
With its honey-laden breath,
Still her heart blooms forth its beauty
In the valley shades of death.
ENCOURAGEDBecause you love me I have much achieved,Had you despised me then I must have failed,But since I knew you trusted and believed,I could not disappoint you and so prevailed.
Because you love me I have much achieved,Had you despised me then I must have failed,But since I knew you trusted and believed,I could not disappoint you and so prevailed.
Because you love me I have much achieved,
Had you despised me then I must have failed,
But since I knew you trusted and believed,
I could not disappoint you and so prevailed.
TO J. Q.What are the things that make life bright?A star gleam in the night.What hearts us for the coming fray?The dawn tints of the day.What helps to speed the weary mile?A brother's friendly smile.What turns o' gold the evening gray?A flower beside the way.
What are the things that make life bright?A star gleam in the night.What hearts us for the coming fray?The dawn tints of the day.What helps to speed the weary mile?A brother's friendly smile.What turns o' gold the evening gray?A flower beside the way.
What are the things that make life bright?
A star gleam in the night.
What hearts us for the coming fray?
The dawn tints of the day.
What helps to speed the weary mile?
A brother's friendly smile.
What turns o' gold the evening gray?
A flower beside the way.
DIPLOMACYTell your love where the roses blow,And the hearts of the lilies quiver,Not in the city's gleam and glow,But down by a half-sunned river.Not in the crowded ball-room's glare,That would be fatal, Marie, Marie,How can she answer you then and there?So come then and stroll with me, my dear,Down where the birds call, Marie, Marie.
Tell your love where the roses blow,And the hearts of the lilies quiver,Not in the city's gleam and glow,But down by a half-sunned river.Not in the crowded ball-room's glare,That would be fatal, Marie, Marie,How can she answer you then and there?So come then and stroll with me, my dear,Down where the birds call, Marie, Marie.
Tell your love where the roses blow,
And the hearts of the lilies quiver,
Not in the city's gleam and glow,
But down by a half-sunned river.
Not in the crowded ball-room's glare,
That would be fatal, Marie, Marie,
How can she answer you then and there?
So come then and stroll with me, my dear,
Down where the birds call, Marie, Marie.
SCAMPAin't it nice to have a mammyW'en you kin' o' tiahed outWid a-playin' in de meddah,An' a-runnin' roun' aboutTill hit's made you mighty hongry,An' yo' nose hit gits to knowWhat de smell means dat 's a-comin'F'om de open cabin do'?She wash yo' face,An' mek yo' place,You's hongry as a tramp;Den hit's eat you suppah right away,You sta'vin' little scamp.W'en you's full o' braid an' bacon,An' dey ain't no mo' to eat,An' de lasses dat's a-stickin'On yo' face ta'se kin' o' sweet,Don' you t'ink hit's kin' o' pleasin'Fu' to have som'body neahDat'll wipe yo' han's an' kiss youFo' dey lif' you f'om you' cheah?To smile so sweet,An' wash yo' feet,An' leave 'em co'l an' damp;Den hit's come let me undress you, nowYou lazy little scamp.Don' yo' eyes git awful heavy,An' yo' lip git awful slack,Ain't dey som'p'n' kin' o' weaknin'In de backbone of yo' back?Don' yo' knees feel kin' o' trimbly,An' yo' head go bobbin' roun',W'en you says yo' "Now I lay me,"An' is sno'in on de "down"?She kiss yo' nose,She kiss yo' toes,An' den tu'n out de lamp,Den hit's creep into yo' trunnel baid,You sleepy little scamp.
Ain't it nice to have a mammyW'en you kin' o' tiahed outWid a-playin' in de meddah,An' a-runnin' roun' aboutTill hit's made you mighty hongry,An' yo' nose hit gits to knowWhat de smell means dat 's a-comin'F'om de open cabin do'?She wash yo' face,An' mek yo' place,You's hongry as a tramp;Den hit's eat you suppah right away,You sta'vin' little scamp.
Ain't it nice to have a mammy
W'en you kin' o' tiahed out
Wid a-playin' in de meddah,
An' a-runnin' roun' about
Till hit's made you mighty hongry,
An' yo' nose hit gits to know
What de smell means dat 's a-comin'
F'om de open cabin do'?
She wash yo' face,
An' mek yo' place,
You's hongry as a tramp;
Den hit's eat you suppah right away,
You sta'vin' little scamp.
W'en you's full o' braid an' bacon,An' dey ain't no mo' to eat,An' de lasses dat's a-stickin'On yo' face ta'se kin' o' sweet,Don' you t'ink hit's kin' o' pleasin'Fu' to have som'body neahDat'll wipe yo' han's an' kiss youFo' dey lif' you f'om you' cheah?To smile so sweet,An' wash yo' feet,An' leave 'em co'l an' damp;Den hit's come let me undress you, nowYou lazy little scamp.
W'en you's full o' braid an' bacon,
An' dey ain't no mo' to eat,
An' de lasses dat's a-stickin'
On yo' face ta'se kin' o' sweet,
Don' you t'ink hit's kin' o' pleasin'
Fu' to have som'body neah
Dat'll wipe yo' han's an' kiss you
Fo' dey lif' you f'om you' cheah?
To smile so sweet,
An' wash yo' feet,
An' leave 'em co'l an' damp;
Den hit's come let me undress you, now
You lazy little scamp.
Don' yo' eyes git awful heavy,An' yo' lip git awful slack,Ain't dey som'p'n' kin' o' weaknin'In de backbone of yo' back?Don' yo' knees feel kin' o' trimbly,An' yo' head go bobbin' roun',W'en you says yo' "Now I lay me,"An' is sno'in on de "down"?She kiss yo' nose,She kiss yo' toes,An' den tu'n out de lamp,Den hit's creep into yo' trunnel baid,You sleepy little scamp.
Don' yo' eyes git awful heavy,
An' yo' lip git awful slack,
Ain't dey som'p'n' kin' o' weaknin'
In de backbone of yo' back?
Don' yo' knees feel kin' o' trimbly,
An' yo' head go bobbin' roun',
W'en you says yo' "Now I lay me,"
An' is sno'in on de "down"?
She kiss yo' nose,
She kiss yo' toes,
An' den tu'n out de lamp,
Den hit's creep into yo' trunnel baid,
You sleepy little scamp.
WADIN' IN DE CRICKDays git wa'm an' wa'mah,School gits mighty dull,Seems lak dese hyeah teachahsMus' feel mussiful.Hookey's wrong, I know itAin't no gent'man's trick;But de aih's a-callin',"Come on to de crick."Dah de watah's gu'glin'Ovah shiny stones,Des hit's ve'y singin'Seems to soothe yo' bones.Wat's de use o' waitin'Go on good an' quick:Dain't no fun lak dis hyeahWadin' in de crick.W'at dat jay-b'ud sayin'?Bettah shet yo' haid,Fus' t'ing dat you fin' out,You'll be layin' daid.Jay-bu'ds sich a tattlah,Des seem lak his trickFu' to tell on folksesWadin' in de crick.Wilier boughs a-bendin'Hidin' of de sky,Wavin' kin' o' frien'lyEz de win' go by,Elum trees a-shinin',Dahk an' green an' thick,Seem to say, "I see yo'Wadin' in de crick."But de trees don' chattah,Dey des look an' sighLak hit's kin' o' peacefulDes a-bein' nigh,An' yo' t'ank yo' MastahDat dey trunks is thickW'en yo' mammy fin's youWadin' in de crick.Den yo' run behin' demLak yo' scaihed to def,Mammy come a-flyin',Mos' nigh out o' bref;But she set down gentleAn' she drap huh stick,—An' fus' t'ing, dey's mammyWadin' in de crick.
Days git wa'm an' wa'mah,School gits mighty dull,Seems lak dese hyeah teachahsMus' feel mussiful.Hookey's wrong, I know itAin't no gent'man's trick;But de aih's a-callin',"Come on to de crick."
Days git wa'm an' wa'mah,
School gits mighty dull,
Seems lak dese hyeah teachahs
Mus' feel mussiful.
Hookey's wrong, I know it
Ain't no gent'man's trick;
But de aih's a-callin',
"Come on to de crick."
Dah de watah's gu'glin'Ovah shiny stones,Des hit's ve'y singin'Seems to soothe yo' bones.Wat's de use o' waitin'Go on good an' quick:Dain't no fun lak dis hyeahWadin' in de crick.
Dah de watah's gu'glin'
Ovah shiny stones,
Des hit's ve'y singin'
Seems to soothe yo' bones.
Wat's de use o' waitin'
Go on good an' quick:
Dain't no fun lak dis hyeah
Wadin' in de crick.
W'at dat jay-b'ud sayin'?Bettah shet yo' haid,Fus' t'ing dat you fin' out,You'll be layin' daid.Jay-bu'ds sich a tattlah,Des seem lak his trickFu' to tell on folksesWadin' in de crick.
W'at dat jay-b'ud sayin'?
Bettah shet yo' haid,
Fus' t'ing dat you fin' out,
You'll be layin' daid.
Jay-bu'ds sich a tattlah,
Des seem lak his trick
Fu' to tell on folkses
Wadin' in de crick.
Wilier boughs a-bendin'Hidin' of de sky,Wavin' kin' o' frien'lyEz de win' go by,Elum trees a-shinin',Dahk an' green an' thick,Seem to say, "I see yo'Wadin' in de crick."
Wilier boughs a-bendin'
Hidin' of de sky,
Wavin' kin' o' frien'ly
Ez de win' go by,
Elum trees a-shinin',
Dahk an' green an' thick,
Seem to say, "I see yo'
Wadin' in de crick."
But de trees don' chattah,Dey des look an' sighLak hit's kin' o' peacefulDes a-bein' nigh,An' yo' t'ank yo' MastahDat dey trunks is thickW'en yo' mammy fin's youWadin' in de crick.
But de trees don' chattah,
Dey des look an' sigh
Lak hit's kin' o' peaceful
Des a-bein' nigh,
An' yo' t'ank yo' Mastah
Dat dey trunks is thick
W'en yo' mammy fin's you
Wadin' in de crick.
Den yo' run behin' demLak yo' scaihed to def,Mammy come a-flyin',Mos' nigh out o' bref;But she set down gentleAn' she drap huh stick,—An' fus' t'ing, dey's mammyWadin' in de crick.
Den yo' run behin' dem
Lak yo' scaihed to def,
Mammy come a-flyin',
Mos' nigh out o' bref;
But she set down gentle
An' she drap huh stick,—
An' fus' t'ing, dey's mammy
Wadin' in de crick.
THE QUILTINGDolly sits a-quilting by her mother, stich by stitch,Gracious, how my pulses throb, how my fingers itch,While I note her dainty waist and her slender hand,As she matches this and that, she stitches strand by strand.And I long to tell her Life's a quilt and I'm a patch;Love will do the stitching if she'll only be my match.
Dolly sits a-quilting by her mother, stich by stitch,Gracious, how my pulses throb, how my fingers itch,While I note her dainty waist and her slender hand,As she matches this and that, she stitches strand by strand.And I long to tell her Life's a quilt and I'm a patch;Love will do the stitching if she'll only be my match.
Dolly sits a-quilting by her mother, stich by stitch,
Gracious, how my pulses throb, how my fingers itch,
While I note her dainty waist and her slender hand,
As she matches this and that, she stitches strand by strand.
And I long to tell her Life's a quilt and I'm a patch;
Love will do the stitching if she'll only be my match.
PARTEDShe wrapped her soul in a lace of lies,With a prime deceit to pin it;And I thought I was gaining a fearsome prize,So I staked my soul to win it.We wed and parted on her complaint,And both were a bit of barter,Tho' I'll confess that I'm no saint,I'll swear that she's no martyr.
She wrapped her soul in a lace of lies,With a prime deceit to pin it;And I thought I was gaining a fearsome prize,So I staked my soul to win it.
She wrapped her soul in a lace of lies,
With a prime deceit to pin it;
And I thought I was gaining a fearsome prize,
So I staked my soul to win it.
We wed and parted on her complaint,And both were a bit of barter,Tho' I'll confess that I'm no saint,I'll swear that she's no martyr.
We wed and parted on her complaint,
And both were a bit of barter,
Tho' I'll confess that I'm no saint,
I'll swear that she's no martyr.
FOREVERI had not known beforeForever was so long a word.The slow stroke of the clock of timeI had not heard.'Tis hard to learn so late;It seems no sad heart really learns,But hopes and trusts and doubts and fears,And bleeds and burns.The night is not all dark,Nor is the day all it seems,But each may bring me this relief—My dreams and dreams.I had not known beforeThat Never was so sad a word,So wrap me in forgetfulness—I have not heard.
I had not known beforeForever was so long a word.The slow stroke of the clock of timeI had not heard.
I had not known before
Forever was so long a word.
The slow stroke of the clock of time
I had not heard.
'Tis hard to learn so late;It seems no sad heart really learns,But hopes and trusts and doubts and fears,And bleeds and burns.
'Tis hard to learn so late;
It seems no sad heart really learns,
But hopes and trusts and doubts and fears,
And bleeds and burns.
The night is not all dark,Nor is the day all it seems,But each may bring me this relief—My dreams and dreams.
The night is not all dark,
Nor is the day all it seems,
But each may bring me this relief—
My dreams and dreams.
I had not known beforeThat Never was so sad a word,So wrap me in forgetfulness—I have not heard.
I had not known before
That Never was so sad a word,
So wrap me in forgetfulness—
I have not heard.
THE PLANTATION CHILD'S LULLABYWintah time hit comin'Stealin' thoo de night;Wake up in the mo'nin'Evah t'ing is white;Cabin lookin' lonesomeStannin' in de snow,Meks you kin' o' nervous,Wen de win' hit blow.Trompin' back from feedin',Col' an' wet an' blue,Homespun jacket ragged,Win' a-blowin' thoo.Cabin lookin' cheerful,Unnerneaf de do',Yet you kin' o' keerfulWen de win' hit blow.Hickory log a-blazin'Light a-lookin' red,Faith o' eyes o' peepin''Rom a trun'le bed,Little feet a-patterin'Cleak across de flo';Bettah had be keerfulWen de win' hit blow.Suppah done an' ovah,Evah t'ing is still;Listen to de snowmanSlippin' down de hill.Ashes on de fiah,Keep it wa'm but low.What's de use o' keerin'Ef de win' do blow?Smoke house full o' bacon,Brown an' sweet an' good;Taters in de cellah,'Possum roam de wood;Little baby snoozin'Des ez ef he know.What's de use o' keerin'Ef de win' do blow?
Wintah time hit comin'Stealin' thoo de night;Wake up in the mo'nin'Evah t'ing is white;Cabin lookin' lonesomeStannin' in de snow,Meks you kin' o' nervous,Wen de win' hit blow.
Wintah time hit comin'
Stealin' thoo de night;
Wake up in the mo'nin'
Evah t'ing is white;
Cabin lookin' lonesome
Stannin' in de snow,
Meks you kin' o' nervous,
Wen de win' hit blow.
Trompin' back from feedin',Col' an' wet an' blue,Homespun jacket ragged,Win' a-blowin' thoo.Cabin lookin' cheerful,Unnerneaf de do',Yet you kin' o' keerfulWen de win' hit blow.
Trompin' back from feedin',
Col' an' wet an' blue,
Homespun jacket ragged,
Win' a-blowin' thoo.
Cabin lookin' cheerful,
Unnerneaf de do',
Yet you kin' o' keerful
Wen de win' hit blow.
Hickory log a-blazin'Light a-lookin' red,Faith o' eyes o' peepin''Rom a trun'le bed,Little feet a-patterin'Cleak across de flo';Bettah had be keerfulWen de win' hit blow.
Hickory log a-blazin'
Light a-lookin' red,
Faith o' eyes o' peepin'
'Rom a trun'le bed,
Little feet a-patterin'
Cleak across de flo';
Bettah had be keerful
Wen de win' hit blow.
Suppah done an' ovah,Evah t'ing is still;Listen to de snowmanSlippin' down de hill.Ashes on de fiah,Keep it wa'm but low.What's de use o' keerin'Ef de win' do blow?
Suppah done an' ovah,
Evah t'ing is still;
Listen to de snowman
Slippin' down de hill.
Ashes on de fiah,
Keep it wa'm but low.
What's de use o' keerin'
Ef de win' do blow?
Smoke house full o' bacon,Brown an' sweet an' good;Taters in de cellah,'Possum roam de wood;Little baby snoozin'Des ez ef he know.What's de use o' keerin'Ef de win' do blow?
Smoke house full o' bacon,
Brown an' sweet an' good;
Taters in de cellah,
'Possum roam de wood;
Little baby snoozin'
Des ez ef he know.
What's de use o' keerin'
Ef de win' do blow?
TWILIGHT'Twixt a smile and a tear,'Twixt a song and a sigh,'Twixt the day and the dark,When the night draweth nigh.Ah, sunshine may fadeFrom the heavens above,No twilight have weTo the day of our love.
'Twixt a smile and a tear,'Twixt a song and a sigh,'Twixt the day and the dark,When the night draweth nigh.
'Twixt a smile and a tear,
'Twixt a song and a sigh,
'Twixt the day and the dark,
When the night draweth nigh.
Ah, sunshine may fadeFrom the heavens above,No twilight have weTo the day of our love.
Ah, sunshine may fade
From the heavens above,
No twilight have we
To the day of our love.
CURIOSITYMammy's in de kitchen, an' de do' is shet;All de pickaninnies climb an' tug an' sweat,Gittin' to de winder, stickin' dah lak flies,Evah one ermong us des all nose an' eyes."Whut's she cookin', Isaac?""Whut's she cookin', Jake?""Is it sweet pertaters? Is hit pie er cake?"But we couldn't mek out even whah we stoodWhut was mammy cookin' dat could smell so good.Mammy spread de winder, an' she frown an' frown,How de pickaninnies come a-tum-blin' down!Den she say: "Ef you-all keeps a-peepin' in,How I'se gwine to whup you, my! 't 'ill be a sin!Need n' come a-sniffin' an' a-nosin' hyeah,'Ca'se I knows my business, nevah feah."Won't somebody tell us—how I wish dey would!—Whut is mammy cookin' dat it smells so good?We know she means business, an' we dassent stay,Dough it's mighty tryin' fuh to go erway;But we goes a-troopin' down de ol' wood-track'Twell dat steamin' kitchen brings us stealin' back,Climbin' an' a-peepin' so's to see inside.Whut on earf kin mammy be so sha'p to hide?I'd des up an' tell folks w'en I knowed I could,Ef I was a-cookin' t'ings dat smelt so good.Mammy in de oven, an' I see huh smile;Moufs mus' be a-wat'rin' roun' hyeah fuh a mile;Den we almos' hollah ez we hu'ies down,'Ca'se hit's apple dumplin's, big an' fat an' brown!W'en de do' is opened, solemn lak an' slow,Wisht you see us settin' all dah in a rowInnercent an' p'opah, des lak chillun shouldW'en dey mammy's cookin' t'ings dat smell so good.
Mammy's in de kitchen, an' de do' is shet;All de pickaninnies climb an' tug an' sweat,Gittin' to de winder, stickin' dah lak flies,Evah one ermong us des all nose an' eyes.
Mammy's in de kitchen, an' de do' is shet;
All de pickaninnies climb an' tug an' sweat,
Gittin' to de winder, stickin' dah lak flies,
Evah one ermong us des all nose an' eyes.
"Whut's she cookin', Isaac?""Whut's she cookin', Jake?""Is it sweet pertaters? Is hit pie er cake?"But we couldn't mek out even whah we stoodWhut was mammy cookin' dat could smell so good.
"Whut's she cookin', Isaac?"
"Whut's she cookin', Jake?"
"Is it sweet pertaters? Is hit pie er cake?"
But we couldn't mek out even whah we stood
Whut was mammy cookin' dat could smell so good.
Mammy spread de winder, an' she frown an' frown,How de pickaninnies come a-tum-blin' down!Den she say: "Ef you-all keeps a-peepin' in,How I'se gwine to whup you, my! 't 'ill be a sin!Need n' come a-sniffin' an' a-nosin' hyeah,'Ca'se I knows my business, nevah feah."Won't somebody tell us—how I wish dey would!—Whut is mammy cookin' dat it smells so good?
Mammy spread de winder, an' she frown an' frown,
How de pickaninnies come a-tum-blin' down!
Den she say: "Ef you-all keeps a-peepin' in,
How I'se gwine to whup you, my! 't 'ill be a sin!
Need n' come a-sniffin' an' a-nosin' hyeah,
'Ca'se I knows my business, nevah feah."
Won't somebody tell us—how I wish dey would!—
Whut is mammy cookin' dat it smells so good?
We know she means business, an' we dassent stay,Dough it's mighty tryin' fuh to go erway;But we goes a-troopin' down de ol' wood-track'Twell dat steamin' kitchen brings us stealin' back,Climbin' an' a-peepin' so's to see inside.Whut on earf kin mammy be so sha'p to hide?I'd des up an' tell folks w'en I knowed I could,Ef I was a-cookin' t'ings dat smelt so good.
We know she means business, an' we dassent stay,
Dough it's mighty tryin' fuh to go erway;
But we goes a-troopin' down de ol' wood-track
'Twell dat steamin' kitchen brings us stealin' back,
Climbin' an' a-peepin' so's to see inside.
Whut on earf kin mammy be so sha'p to hide?
I'd des up an' tell folks w'en I knowed I could,
Ef I was a-cookin' t'ings dat smelt so good.
Mammy in de oven, an' I see huh smile;Moufs mus' be a-wat'rin' roun' hyeah fuh a mile;Den we almos' hollah ez we hu'ies down,'Ca'se hit's apple dumplin's, big an' fat an' brown!W'en de do' is opened, solemn lak an' slow,Wisht you see us settin' all dah in a rowInnercent an' p'opah, des lak chillun shouldW'en dey mammy's cookin' t'ings dat smell so good.
Mammy in de oven, an' I see huh smile;
Moufs mus' be a-wat'rin' roun' hyeah fuh a mile;
Den we almos' hollah ez we hu'ies down,
'Ca'se hit's apple dumplin's, big an' fat an' brown!
W'en de do' is opened, solemn lak an' slow,
Wisht you see us settin' all dah in a row
Innercent an' p'opah, des lak chillun should
W'en dey mammy's cookin' t'ings dat smell so good.
OPPORTUNITYGranny's gone a-visitin',Seen huh git huh shawlW'en I was a-hidin' downHime de gyahden wall.Seen huh put her bonnet on,Seen huh tie de strings,An' I'se gone to dreamin' now'Bout dem cakes an' t'ings.On de she'f behime de do'—Mussy, what a feas'!Soon ez she gits out o' sight,I kin eat in peace.I bin watchin' fu' a weekDes fu' dis hyeah chance.Mussy, w'en I gits in daih,I'll des sholy dance.Lemon pie an' gingah-cake,Let me set an' t'ink—Vinegah an' sugah, too,Dat'll mek a drink;Ef dey's one t'ing dat I lovesMos' pu'ticlahly,It is eatin' sweet t'ings an'A-drinkin' Sangaree.Lawdy, won' po' granny raihW'en she see de she'f;W'en I t'ink erbout huh face,I's mos' 'shamed myse'f.Well, she gone, an 'hyeah I is,Back behime de do'—Look hyeah! gran' 's done 'spected me,Dain't no sweets no mo'.Evah sweet is hid erway,Job des done up brown;Pusson t'ink dat someun t'oughtDey was t'eves erroun';Dat des breaks my heart in two,Oh how bad I feel!Des to t'ink my own grammaB'lieved dat I 'u'd steal!
Granny's gone a-visitin',Seen huh git huh shawlW'en I was a-hidin' downHime de gyahden wall.Seen huh put her bonnet on,Seen huh tie de strings,An' I'se gone to dreamin' now'Bout dem cakes an' t'ings.
Granny's gone a-visitin',
Seen huh git huh shawl
W'en I was a-hidin' down
Hime de gyahden wall.
Seen huh put her bonnet on,
Seen huh tie de strings,
An' I'se gone to dreamin' now
'Bout dem cakes an' t'ings.
On de she'f behime de do'—Mussy, what a feas'!Soon ez she gits out o' sight,I kin eat in peace.I bin watchin' fu' a weekDes fu' dis hyeah chance.Mussy, w'en I gits in daih,I'll des sholy dance.
On de she'f behime de do'—
Mussy, what a feas'!
Soon ez she gits out o' sight,
I kin eat in peace.
I bin watchin' fu' a week
Des fu' dis hyeah chance.
Mussy, w'en I gits in daih,
I'll des sholy dance.
Lemon pie an' gingah-cake,Let me set an' t'ink—Vinegah an' sugah, too,Dat'll mek a drink;Ef dey's one t'ing dat I lovesMos' pu'ticlahly,It is eatin' sweet t'ings an'A-drinkin' Sangaree.
Lemon pie an' gingah-cake,
Let me set an' t'ink—
Vinegah an' sugah, too,
Dat'll mek a drink;
Ef dey's one t'ing dat I loves
Mos' pu'ticlahly,
It is eatin' sweet t'ings an'
A-drinkin' Sangaree.
Lawdy, won' po' granny raihW'en she see de she'f;W'en I t'ink erbout huh face,I's mos' 'shamed myse'f.Well, she gone, an 'hyeah I is,Back behime de do'—Look hyeah! gran' 's done 'spected me,Dain't no sweets no mo'.
Lawdy, won' po' granny raih
W'en she see de she'f;
W'en I t'ink erbout huh face,
I's mos' 'shamed myse'f.
Well, she gone, an 'hyeah I is,
Back behime de do'—
Look hyeah! gran' 's done 'spected me,
Dain't no sweets no mo'.
Evah sweet is hid erway,Job des done up brown;Pusson t'ink dat someun t'oughtDey was t'eves erroun';Dat des breaks my heart in two,Oh how bad I feel!Des to t'ink my own grammaB'lieved dat I 'u'd steal!
Evah sweet is hid erway,
Job des done up brown;
Pusson t'ink dat someun t'ought
Dey was t'eves erroun';
Dat des breaks my heart in two,
Oh how bad I feel!
Des to t'ink my own gramma
B'lieved dat I 'u'd steal!
PUTTIN' THE BABY AWAYEight of 'em hyeah all tol' an' yetDese eyes o' mine is wringin' wet;My haht's a-achin' ha'd an' so',De way hit nevah ached befo';My soul's a-pleadin', "Lawd, give backDis little lonesome baby black,Dis one, dis las' po' he'pless oneWhose little race was too soon run."Po' Little Jim, des fo' yeahs ol'A-layin' down so still an' col'.Somehow hit don' seem ha'dly faih,To have my baby lyin' daihWi'dout a smile upon his face,Wi'dout a look erbout de place;He ust to be so full o' funHit don' seem right dat all's done, done.Des eight in all but I don' caih,Dey wa'nt a single one to spaih;De worl' was big, so was my haht,An' dis hyeah baby owned hit's paht;De house was po', dey clothes was rough,But daih was meat an' meal enough;An' daih was room fu' little Jim;Oh! Lawd, what made you call fu' him?.It do seem monst'ous ha'd to-day,To lay dis baby boy away;I'd learned to love his teasin' smile,He mought o' des been lef' erwhile;You wouldn't t'ought wid all de folks,Dat's roun' hyeah mixin' teahs an' jokes,De Lawd u'd had de time to seeDis chile an' tek him 'way f'om me.But let it go, I reckon Jim,'Ll des go right straight up to HimDat took him f'om his mammy's nestAn' lef dis achin' in my breas',An' lookin' in dat fathah's faceAn' 'memberin' dis lone sorrerin' place,He'll say, "Good Lawd, you ought to hadDo sumpin' fu' to comfo't dad!"
Eight of 'em hyeah all tol' an' yetDese eyes o' mine is wringin' wet;My haht's a-achin' ha'd an' so',De way hit nevah ached befo';My soul's a-pleadin', "Lawd, give backDis little lonesome baby black,Dis one, dis las' po' he'pless oneWhose little race was too soon run."
Eight of 'em hyeah all tol' an' yet
Dese eyes o' mine is wringin' wet;
My haht's a-achin' ha'd an' so',
De way hit nevah ached befo';
My soul's a-pleadin', "Lawd, give back
Dis little lonesome baby black,
Dis one, dis las' po' he'pless one
Whose little race was too soon run."
Po' Little Jim, des fo' yeahs ol'A-layin' down so still an' col'.Somehow hit don' seem ha'dly faih,To have my baby lyin' daihWi'dout a smile upon his face,Wi'dout a look erbout de place;He ust to be so full o' funHit don' seem right dat all's done, done.
Po' Little Jim, des fo' yeahs ol'
A-layin' down so still an' col'.
Somehow hit don' seem ha'dly faih,
To have my baby lyin' daih
Wi'dout a smile upon his face,
Wi'dout a look erbout de place;
He ust to be so full o' fun
Hit don' seem right dat all's done, done.
Des eight in all but I don' caih,Dey wa'nt a single one to spaih;De worl' was big, so was my haht,An' dis hyeah baby owned hit's paht;De house was po', dey clothes was rough,But daih was meat an' meal enough;An' daih was room fu' little Jim;Oh! Lawd, what made you call fu' him?.
Des eight in all but I don' caih,
Dey wa'nt a single one to spaih;
De worl' was big, so was my haht,
An' dis hyeah baby owned hit's paht;
De house was po', dey clothes was rough,
But daih was meat an' meal enough;
An' daih was room fu' little Jim;
Oh! Lawd, what made you call fu' him?.
It do seem monst'ous ha'd to-day,To lay dis baby boy away;I'd learned to love his teasin' smile,He mought o' des been lef' erwhile;You wouldn't t'ought wid all de folks,Dat's roun' hyeah mixin' teahs an' jokes,De Lawd u'd had de time to seeDis chile an' tek him 'way f'om me.
It do seem monst'ous ha'd to-day,
To lay dis baby boy away;
I'd learned to love his teasin' smile,
He mought o' des been lef' erwhile;
You wouldn't t'ought wid all de folks,
Dat's roun' hyeah mixin' teahs an' jokes,
De Lawd u'd had de time to see
Dis chile an' tek him 'way f'om me.
But let it go, I reckon Jim,'Ll des go right straight up to HimDat took him f'om his mammy's nestAn' lef dis achin' in my breas',An' lookin' in dat fathah's faceAn' 'memberin' dis lone sorrerin' place,He'll say, "Good Lawd, you ought to hadDo sumpin' fu' to comfo't dad!"
But let it go, I reckon Jim,
'Ll des go right straight up to Him
Dat took him f'om his mammy's nest
An' lef dis achin' in my breas',
An' lookin' in dat fathah's face
An' 'memberin' dis lone sorrerin' place,
He'll say, "Good Lawd, you ought to had
Do sumpin' fu' to comfo't dad!"
THE FISHER CHILD'S LULLABYThe wind is out in its rage to-night,And your father is far at sea.The rime on the window is hard and whiteBut dear, you are near to me.Heave ho, weave low,Waves of the briny deep;Seethe low and breathe low,But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.The little boat rocks in the cove no more,But the flying sea-gulls wail;I peer through the darkness that wraps the shore,For sight of a home set sail.Heave ho, weave low,Waves of the briny deep;Seethe low and breathe low,But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.Ay, lad of mine, thy father may dieIn the gale that rides the sea,But we'll not believe it, not you and I,Who mind us of Galilee.Heave ho, weave low,Waves of the briny deep;Seethe low and breathe low,But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
The wind is out in its rage to-night,And your father is far at sea.The rime on the window is hard and whiteBut dear, you are near to me.Heave ho, weave low,Waves of the briny deep;Seethe low and breathe low,But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
The wind is out in its rage to-night,
And your father is far at sea.
The rime on the window is hard and white
But dear, you are near to me.
Heave ho, weave low,
Waves of the briny deep;
Seethe low and breathe low,
But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
The little boat rocks in the cove no more,But the flying sea-gulls wail;I peer through the darkness that wraps the shore,For sight of a home set sail.Heave ho, weave low,Waves of the briny deep;Seethe low and breathe low,But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
The little boat rocks in the cove no more,
But the flying sea-gulls wail;
I peer through the darkness that wraps the shore,
For sight of a home set sail.
Heave ho, weave low,
Waves of the briny deep;
Seethe low and breathe low,
But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
Ay, lad of mine, thy father may dieIn the gale that rides the sea,But we'll not believe it, not you and I,Who mind us of Galilee.Heave ho, weave low,Waves of the briny deep;Seethe low and breathe low,But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
Ay, lad of mine, thy father may die
In the gale that rides the sea,
But we'll not believe it, not you and I,
Who mind us of Galilee.
Heave ho, weave low,
Waves of the briny deep;
Seethe low and breathe low,
But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.
FAITHI's a-gittin' weary of de way dat people do,De folks dat's got dey 'ligion in dey fiah-place an' flue;Dey's allus somep'n comin' so de spit'll have to turn,An' hit tain't no p'oposition fu' to mek de hickory bu'n.Ef de sweet pertater fails us an' de go'geous yallah yam,We kin tek a bit o' comfo't f'om ouah sto' o' summah jam.W'en de snow hit git to flyin', dat's de Mastah's own desiah,De Lawd'll run de wintah an' yo' mammy'll run de fiah.I ain' skeered because de win' hit staht to raih and blow,I ain't bothahed w'en he come er rattlin' at de do',Let him taih hisse'f an' shout, let him blow an' bawl,Dat's de time de branches shek an' bresh-wood 'mence to fall.W'en de sto'm er railin' an' de shettahs blowin' 'bout,Dat de time de fiah-place crack hits welcome out.Tain' my livin' business fu' to trouble ner enquiah,De Lawd'll min' de wintah an' my mammy'll min' de fiah.Ash-cake allus gits ez brown w'en February's hyeahEz it does in bakin' any othah time o' yeah.De bacon smell ez callin'-like, de kittle rock an' sing,De same way in de wintah dat dey do it in de spring;Dey ain't no use in mopin' 'round an' lookin' mad an' glumErbout de wintah season, fu' hit's des plumb boun' to come;An' ef it comes to runnin' t'ings I's willin' to retiah,De Lawd'll min' de wintah an' my mammy'll min' de fiah.
I's a-gittin' weary of de way dat people do,De folks dat's got dey 'ligion in dey fiah-place an' flue;Dey's allus somep'n comin' so de spit'll have to turn,An' hit tain't no p'oposition fu' to mek de hickory bu'n.Ef de sweet pertater fails us an' de go'geous yallah yam,We kin tek a bit o' comfo't f'om ouah sto' o' summah jam.W'en de snow hit git to flyin', dat's de Mastah's own desiah,De Lawd'll run de wintah an' yo' mammy'll run de fiah.
I's a-gittin' weary of de way dat people do,
De folks dat's got dey 'ligion in dey fiah-place an' flue;
Dey's allus somep'n comin' so de spit'll have to turn,
An' hit tain't no p'oposition fu' to mek de hickory bu'n.
Ef de sweet pertater fails us an' de go'geous yallah yam,
We kin tek a bit o' comfo't f'om ouah sto' o' summah jam.
W'en de snow hit git to flyin', dat's de Mastah's own desiah,
De Lawd'll run de wintah an' yo' mammy'll run de fiah.
I ain' skeered because de win' hit staht to raih and blow,I ain't bothahed w'en he come er rattlin' at de do',Let him taih hisse'f an' shout, let him blow an' bawl,
I ain' skeered because de win' hit staht to raih and blow,
I ain't bothahed w'en he come er rattlin' at de do',
Let him taih hisse'f an' shout, let him blow an' bawl,
Dat's de time de branches shek an' bresh-wood 'mence to fall.W'en de sto'm er railin' an' de shettahs blowin' 'bout,Dat de time de fiah-place crack hits welcome out.Tain' my livin' business fu' to trouble ner enquiah,De Lawd'll min' de wintah an' my mammy'll min' de fiah.
Dat's de time de branches shek an' bresh-wood 'mence to fall.
W'en de sto'm er railin' an' de shettahs blowin' 'bout,
Dat de time de fiah-place crack hits welcome out.
Tain' my livin' business fu' to trouble ner enquiah,
De Lawd'll min' de wintah an' my mammy'll min' de fiah.
Ash-cake allus gits ez brown w'en February's hyeahEz it does in bakin' any othah time o' yeah.De bacon smell ez callin'-like, de kittle rock an' sing,De same way in de wintah dat dey do it in de spring;Dey ain't no use in mopin' 'round an' lookin' mad an' glumErbout de wintah season, fu' hit's des plumb boun' to come;
Ash-cake allus gits ez brown w'en February's hyeah
Ez it does in bakin' any othah time o' yeah.
De bacon smell ez callin'-like, de kittle rock an' sing,
De same way in de wintah dat dey do it in de spring;
Dey ain't no use in mopin' 'round an' lookin' mad an' glum
Erbout de wintah season, fu' hit's des plumb boun' to come;
An' ef it comes to runnin' t'ings I's willin' to retiah,De Lawd'll min' de wintah an' my mammy'll min' de fiah.
An' ef it comes to runnin' t'ings I's willin' to retiah,
De Lawd'll min' de wintah an' my mammy'll min' de fiah.
THE FARM CHILD'S LULLABYOh, the little bird is rocking in the cradle of the wind,And it's bye, my little wee one, bye;The harvest all is gathered and the pippins all are binned;Bye, my little wee one, bye;The little rabbit's hiding in the golden shock of corn,The thrifty squirrel's laughing bunny's idleness to scorn;You are smiling with the angels in your slumber, smile till morn;So it's bye, my little wee one, bye.There'll be plenty in the cellar, there'll be plenty on the shelf;Bye, my little wee one, bye;There'll be goodly store of sweetings for a dainty little elf;Bye, my little wee one, bye.The snow may be a-flying o'er the meadow and the hill,The ice has checked the chatter of the little laughing rill,But in your cosey cradle you are warm and happy still;So bye, my little wee one, bye.Why, the Bob White thinks the snowflake is a brother to his song;Bye, my little wee one, bye;And the chimney sings the sweeter when the wind is blowing strong;Bye, my little wee one, bye;The granary's overflowing, full is cellar, crib, and bin,The wood has paid its tribute and the ax has ceased its din;The winter may not harm you when you're sheltered safe within;So bye, my little wee one, bye.
Oh, the little bird is rocking in the cradle of the wind,And it's bye, my little wee one, bye;The harvest all is gathered and the pippins all are binned;Bye, my little wee one, bye;The little rabbit's hiding in the golden shock of corn,The thrifty squirrel's laughing bunny's idleness to scorn;You are smiling with the angels in your slumber, smile till morn;So it's bye, my little wee one, bye.
Oh, the little bird is rocking in the cradle of the wind,
And it's bye, my little wee one, bye;
The harvest all is gathered and the pippins all are binned;
Bye, my little wee one, bye;
The little rabbit's hiding in the golden shock of corn,
The thrifty squirrel's laughing bunny's idleness to scorn;
You are smiling with the angels in your slumber, smile till morn;
So it's bye, my little wee one, bye.
There'll be plenty in the cellar, there'll be plenty on the shelf;Bye, my little wee one, bye;There'll be goodly store of sweetings for a dainty little elf;Bye, my little wee one, bye.The snow may be a-flying o'er the meadow and the hill,The ice has checked the chatter of the little laughing rill,But in your cosey cradle you are warm and happy still;So bye, my little wee one, bye.
There'll be plenty in the cellar, there'll be plenty on the shelf;
Bye, my little wee one, bye;
There'll be goodly store of sweetings for a dainty little elf;
Bye, my little wee one, bye.
The snow may be a-flying o'er the meadow and the hill,
The ice has checked the chatter of the little laughing rill,
But in your cosey cradle you are warm and happy still;
So bye, my little wee one, bye.
Why, the Bob White thinks the snowflake is a brother to his song;Bye, my little wee one, bye;And the chimney sings the sweeter when the wind is blowing strong;Bye, my little wee one, bye;The granary's overflowing, full is cellar, crib, and bin,The wood has paid its tribute and the ax has ceased its din;The winter may not harm you when you're sheltered safe within;So bye, my little wee one, bye.
Why, the Bob White thinks the snowflake is a brother to his song;
Bye, my little wee one, bye;
And the chimney sings the sweeter when the wind is blowing strong;
Bye, my little wee one, bye;
The granary's overflowing, full is cellar, crib, and bin,
The wood has paid its tribute and the ax has ceased its din;
The winter may not harm you when you're sheltered safe within;
So bye, my little wee one, bye.
THE PLACE WHERE THE RAINBOW ENDSThere's a fabulous storyFull of splendor and glory,That Arabian legends transcends;Of the wealth without measure,The coffers of treasure,At the place where the rainbow ends.Oh, many have sought it,And all would have bought it,With the blood we so recklessly spend;But none has uncovered,The gold, nor discoveredThe spot at the rainbow's end.They have sought it in battle,And e'en where the rattleOf dice with man's blasphemy blends;But howe'er persuasive,It still proves evasive,This place where the rainbow ends.I own for my pleasure,I yearn not for treasure,Though gold has a power it lends;And I have a notion,To find without motion,The place where the rainbow ends.The pot may hold pottage,The place be a cottage,That a humble contentment defends,Only joy fills its coffer,But spite of the scoffer,There's the place where the rainbow ends.Where care shall be quiet,And love shall run riot,And I shall find wealth in my friends;Then truce to the story,Of riches and glory;There's the place where the rainbow ends.
There's a fabulous storyFull of splendor and glory,That Arabian legends transcends;Of the wealth without measure,The coffers of treasure,At the place where the rainbow ends.
There's a fabulous story
Full of splendor and glory,
That Arabian legends transcends;
Of the wealth without measure,
The coffers of treasure,
At the place where the rainbow ends.
Oh, many have sought it,And all would have bought it,With the blood we so recklessly spend;But none has uncovered,The gold, nor discoveredThe spot at the rainbow's end.
Oh, many have sought it,
And all would have bought it,
With the blood we so recklessly spend;
But none has uncovered,
The gold, nor discovered
The spot at the rainbow's end.
They have sought it in battle,And e'en where the rattleOf dice with man's blasphemy blends;But howe'er persuasive,It still proves evasive,This place where the rainbow ends.
They have sought it in battle,
And e'en where the rattle
Of dice with man's blasphemy blends;
But howe'er persuasive,
It still proves evasive,
This place where the rainbow ends.
I own for my pleasure,I yearn not for treasure,Though gold has a power it lends;And I have a notion,To find without motion,The place where the rainbow ends.
I own for my pleasure,
I yearn not for treasure,
Though gold has a power it lends;
And I have a notion,
To find without motion,
The place where the rainbow ends.
The pot may hold pottage,The place be a cottage,That a humble contentment defends,Only joy fills its coffer,But spite of the scoffer,There's the place where the rainbow ends.
The pot may hold pottage,
The place be a cottage,
That a humble contentment defends,
Only joy fills its coffer,
But spite of the scoffer,
There's the place where the rainbow ends.
Where care shall be quiet,And love shall run riot,And I shall find wealth in my friends;Then truce to the story,Of riches and glory;There's the place where the rainbow ends.
Where care shall be quiet,
And love shall run riot,
And I shall find wealth in my friends;
Then truce to the story,
Of riches and glory;
There's the place where the rainbow ends.