THE POWER OF PRAYER

THE FIRST STEAMBOAT UP THE ALABAMA

You, Dinah! Come and set me whar de ribber-roads does

meet.

De Lord, He made dese black-jack roots to twis' into a seat. Umph, dar! De Lord have mussy on dis blin' ole nigger's feet.

It pear to me dis mornin' I kin smell de fust o' June,

I 'clar, I b'lieve dat mockin'-bird could play de fiddle soon! Dem yonder town-bells sounds like dey was ringin' in de

moon.

Well, ef dis nigger is been blin' for fo'ty years or mo',

Dese ears dey sees de world, like th’u' de cracks dat's in de do';

For de Lord has built dis cabin wid de winders hind and 'fo'.

I know my front ones is stopped up, and things is sort o' dim;

But den, th'u' dem temptations vain won't leak in on ole

Jim!

De back ones shows me earth enough, aldo' dey's mons'ous slim.

And as for Hebben-bless de Lord, and praise His holy name! Dat shines in all de co'ners o' dis cabin jes' de same

As ef dat cabin hadn't nar a plank upon de frame!

Who call me? Listen down the ribber, Dinah! Don't you hyar

Somebody holl'in' “Hoo, Jim, hoo?" My Sarah died las' y'ar;

Is dat black angel done come back to call ole Jim from hyar?

1

My stars! dat can't be Sarah-shuh, jes' listen, Dinah, now !
What kin be comin' up dat bend, a-makin' sich a row?
Fus' bellerin', like a pawin' bull, den squealin' like a sow!

De Lord 'a' massy sakes alive! jes' hear-Ker-woof! Ker

woof!

De Debble's comin' round dat bend-he's comin', shuh enuff, A-splashin' up de water wid his tail and wid his hoof!.

I'se pow'ful skeered; but neversomeless I ain't gwine run

away;

I'm gwine to stan' stiff-legged for de Lord dis blessed day; You screech, and howl, and swish de water, Satan! Let us pray:

O hebbenly Mahs'r, what Thou willest dat mus' be jes' sø,
And ef Thou hast bespoke de word, some nigger's boun' to go.
Den, Lord, please take ole Jim, and lef young Dinah hyar be-
low!

Scuse Dinah, scuse her, Mahs'r; for she's sich a little chile,
She hardly jes' begin to scramble up the home-yard stile;
But dis old traveller's feet been tired dis many an' many a mile.

I'se wufless as de rotten pole o' las' year's fodder-stack;
De rheumatiz done bit my bones: you hyar 'em crack and crack?
I can't sit down 'dout gruntin' like 'twas breakin' o' my back.

What use de wheel when hub and spokes is warped and split and rotten?

What use dis dried up cotton-stalk when Life done picked my

cotton?

I'se like a word, dat somebody done said, and den forgotten.

But Dinah ! Shuh! dat gal jes' like dis little hick'ry-tree,
De sap's jis risin' in her; she do grow owdaciouslee→
Lord, ef you's clarin' de underbrush, don't cut her down-cut

me!

I would not proud presume--but yet I'll boldly make reques', Sence Jacob had dat wastlin' match, I, too, gwine do my bes'; When Jacob got all underholt, de Lord He answered, Yes!

And what for waste de wittles now, and th'ow away de bread? Jes' for to strength dese idle hands to scratch dis ole bald head? Tink of de 'conomy, Mahs'r, ef dis ole Jim was dead !

Stop; ef I don't believe de Debble's gone on up de stream!" Jes' now he squealed down dar: hush; dat's a mighty weakly scream!

Yes, sir, he's gone,

dream!

he's gone; he snort 'way off, like in a

O glory, hallelujah to de Lord dat reigns on high!

De Debble's fa'rly skeered to def; he done gone flyin' by;
I know'd he could'n' stan' dat pra'r, I felt my Mahs'r nigh!

You, Dinah, ain't you' shamed now dat you didn't trust to

grace?

I heerd you thrashin' th'u' de bushes when he showed his face!

You fool, you t'ink de Debble couldn't beat you in a race?

I tell you, Dinah, jes' as sure as you is standin' dar, When folks start prayin', answer-angels drops down th'u' de a'r;

Yea, Dinah, whar 'ould you be now, exceptin' fur dat pra'r? Sidney and Clifford Lanier

NEBUCHADNEZZAR

You, Nebuchadnezzah, whoa, sah!
Whar is you tryin' to go, sah?
I'd hab you fur to know, sah,
I's a-holdin' ob de lines.
You better stop dat prancin',
You's paw'ful fond ob dancin',
But I'll bet my yeah's advancin'
Dat I'll cure you ob yo' shines.

Look heah, mule! Better min' out;
Fus' t'ing you know you'll fin' out
How quick I'll w'ar dis line out

On yo' ugly stubbo'n back;
You needn't try to steal up
An' lif' dat precious heel up;
You's got to plough dis fiel' up.

You has, sah, fur a fac'.

Dar, dat's de way to do it!
He's comin' right down to it;
Jes' watch him ploughin' troo it!
Dis nigger ain't no fool.

Some folks dey would 'a' beat him:
Now, dat would only heat him;
I know jes' how to treat him:
You mus' reason wid a mule.

He minds me like a nigger,
If he wuz only bigger
He'd fotch a mighty figger,

He would, I tell you! Yes, sah!
See how he keeps a-clickin'!
He's as gentle as a chicken,
And nebber thinks o' kickin'-
Whoa, dar! Nebuchadnezzah!

Is dis heah me, or not me?
Or is de debbil got me?

Wuz dat a cannon shot me?

Hab I laid heah more'n a week?

Dat mule do kick amazin'

De beast was sp'iled in raisin'!

By now I 'spect he's grazin'

On de odder side de creek.

Irwin Russell [1853-1879]

KENTUCKY PHILOSOPHY

You Wi'yum, come 'ere, suh, dis minute. Wut dat you got under dat box?

I don't want no foolin'-you hear me? Wut you say? Ain't nu'h'n but rocks?

'Peahs ter me you's owdashus pertickler. S'posin' dey's uv a new kine.

I'll des take a look at dem rocks. Hi yi! does you think dat I's bline?

I calls dat a plain watermillion, you scamp, en I knows whah it growed;

It come fum de Jimmerson cawn fiel', dah on t'er side er de road.

You stole it, you rascal---you stole it! I watched you fum down in de lot.

En time I gits th'ough wid you, nigger, you won't cb'n be a grease spot!

I'll fix you. Mirandy! Mirandy! go cut me a hick'ry-make 'ase!

En cut me de toughes' an keenes' you c'n fine anywhah on

de place.

I'll l'arn you, Mr. Wi'yum Joe Vetters, ter steal en ter lie,

you young sinner,

Disgracin' yo'ole Christian mammy, en makin' her leave cookin' dinner!

Now ain't you ashamed er yo'se'f, suh? I is. I's ashamed you's my son!

En de holy accorjun angel he's ashamed er wut you has

done;

En he done tuk it down up yander in coal-black, blood-red letters

"One watermillion stoled by Wi'yum Josephus Vetters."

En wut you s'posin' Brer Bascom, yo' teacher at Sunday

school,

'Ud say ef he knowed how you's broke de good Lawd's Gol'n

Rule?

Boy, whah's de raisin' I give you? Is you boun' fuh ter be a black villiun?

I's s'prised dat a chile er yo' mammy 'ud steal any man's watermillion.

En I's now gwiner cut it right open, en you shain't have narry bite,

Fuh a boy who'll steal watermillions-en dat in de day's broad light