"Hole-on to de gospel! Ef you see dat de
flag am tore, get hole somewhar, keep a grabblin
until ye git hole ob de stick, an' nebah gib up de
stick, but grabble, grabble till ye die; for dough
yer sins be as black as scarlet, dey shall be whit
as snow."
The sermon over, the assembled negroes then
sung in slow measure:
"Lit-tell chil-ern, you'd bet-tar be-a-lieve -
Lit-tell chil-ern, you'd bet-tar be-a-lieve -
Lit-tell chil-ern, you'd bet-tar be-a-lieve -
I'll git home to heav-en when I die.
Sweet heav-en am-a-my-am,
Sweet heav-en am-a-my-am,
Sweet heav-en am-a-my-am,
I'll git home to heav-en when I die.
Lord wish-ed I was in heav-en,
Fur to see my mudder when she enter,
Fur to see her tri-als an' long white robes:
She'll shine like cristul in de sun.
Sweet heav-en am-a-my-am,
Sweet heav-en am-a-my-am,
Sweet heav-en am-a-my-am,
I'll git home to heav-en when I die,"
While visiting a town in Georgia, where the
negroes had made some effort to improve their
condition, I made a few notes relating to the
freedman's debating society of the place.
