Classic Poem

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?

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' so,
And ef Thou hast bespoke de word, some nigger's boun' to go.
Den, Lord, please take ole Jim, and lef young Dinah hyar below!

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 'mdash 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, he's gone; — he snort 'way off, like in a dream!

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?