THE SLAVEHOLDER'S REST.
Servant.
Come all my brethren, let ustake a rest,
While the moon shines so brightly and clear;
Old master has died and left us all at last,
And has gone at the bar to appear.
Old master is dead, and lying in his grave;
And our blood will awhile cease to flow.
He will no more trample on the neck of the slave,
For he's gone where the slaveholder's go.
Brethren--
Hang up the shovel and the hoe;
Take down the fiddle and the bow,
Old master has gone to the slaveholder's rest,
He has gone where they all ought to go.
Servant--
I heard the old doctor say the other night,
As he pass'd by the dining room door.
"Prehaps the old gentleman may live through the
night,
But I think that he will die about four."
Then old mistress sent me at the peril of my life,
For the parson to come down to pray;
"For," said she, "your old master is now about to die,"
And said I, "God speed him on his way!"
Brethren--
Hang up the shovel and the hoe;
Take down the fiddle and the bow, &c.
Servant--
At four o'clock this morning, the family was
called
Around the old man's dying bed,
And I tell you now I laughed to myself, when
I was told
That the old man's spirit had fled.
The children all grieved, and so I did pretend;
The old mistress very near went mad;
And the old Parson's groans, did the heavens
fairly rend;
But I tell you now I felt mighty glad.
Brethren--
Hang up the shovel and the hoe;
Take down the fiddle and the bow, &c.
All Join Together.
We will no more be roused by the blowing of
his horn,
Our backs no longer he will score;
He will no more feed us on cotton seeds and corn,
For his reign of oppression nos is o'er;
He will no more hang our children on the tree,
To be eaten by the carion crow;
He will no more sell our wives to Tennessee,
For he's gone where the slaveholders go.
Hang up the shovel and the hoe;
Take down the fiddle and the bow, &c.