 | Thoughts in Verse |  |
33
CYPRESS SLASH.
There's a place called Cypress Slash,
In the town of McIntosh;
'Tis a pleasant place to live,
And one's strength to missions give.
Many happy days we passed
In the bounds of Cypress Slash.
In the town of McIntosh;
'Tis a pleasant place to live,
And one's strength to missions give.
Many happy days we passed
In the bounds of Cypress Slash.
'Tis a farming district fine,
Where men and women spend their time
In the fields a-turning sod;
In sweet content they daily plod,
Clearing land of weeds and trash,
In the fields of Cypress Slash.
Where men and women spend their time
In the fields a-turning sod;
In sweet content they daily plod,
Clearing land of weeds and trash,
In the fields of Cypress Slash.
A mission church is standing there,
Siloam church, 'mid pines so fair;
On Sabbath, those who've six days trod
The fields, look up to Nature's God—
Turning their minds from care and crash
To temple praise in Cypress Slash.
Siloam church, 'mid pines so fair;
On Sabbath, those who've six days trod
The fields, look up to Nature's God—
Turning their minds from care and crash
To temple praise in Cypress Slash.
Another church—the A. M. E.—
Stands near a grove of tall pine trees,
And there, on every Thursday night
The “Locals” preach with much delight,
And strike the book with mighty crash,
Down in the vale of Cypress Slash.
Stands near a grove of tall pine trees,
And there, on every Thursday night
The “Locals” preach with much delight,
And strike the book with mighty crash,
Down in the vale of Cypress Slash.
But with each month comes Brother G.—
A priest of common sense is he!
Oh, what a change comes o'er that band
Under his firm and steady hand!
Until he's gone, no noise, no clash,
In the valley church of Cypress Slash.
A priest of common sense is he!
34
Under his firm and steady hand!
Until he's gone, no noise, no clash,
In the valley church of Cypress Slash.
Of youth and maidens there's no lack,
And many of them on the track
That leads to brighter scenes above,
Where all is peace and joy and love.
But they are modest, shy, abash,
These boys and girls of Cypress Slash.
And many of them on the track
That leads to brighter scenes above,
Where all is peace and joy and love.
But they are modest, shy, abash,
These boys and girls of Cypress Slash.
In the happy hours of spring
The woodland songsters sweetly sing;
Bees are humming in the bowers,
Where bloom the rose and jasmin flowers,
And at evening fire-flies flash,
O'er the fields of Cypress Slash.
The woodland songsters sweetly sing;
Bees are humming in the bowers,
Where bloom the rose and jasmin flowers,
And at evening fire-flies flash,
O'er the fields of Cypress Slash.
Come, then, friends, and see the place,
And its rural populace;
In their simple, happy homes,
Where peace and joy and plenty comes,
We'll give you welcome, and some—“hash”
If you visit Cypress Slash.
And its rural populace;
In their simple, happy homes,
Where peace and joy and plenty comes,
We'll give you welcome, and some—“hash”
If you visit Cypress Slash.
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