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THE SLAVEHOLDER'S REST.
[_]
A Song, illustrative of the true feelings of the slave, when a tyrant Master dies, sung by the body-servant and his field brethren, in a retired negro quarter. Air—Uncle Ned.
Come all my brethren, let us take 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 slave-holders go,
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 slave-holders go,
Brethren—
Hang up the shovel and the hoe,
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Old Master has gone to the slave-holders' rest,
He is gone where they all ought to go.
Servant—
I heard the old doctor say the other night,
As he passed by the dining-room door;
“Perhaps the old gentleman may live through the night,
But I think he will die about four.”
Then old Mistress sent me at the peril of my life
For the parson to come down and pray;
“For,” said she, “your old master is now about to die,”
And said I, “God speed him on his way!”
As he passed by the dining-room door;
“Perhaps the old gentleman may live through the night,
But I think he will die about four.”
Then old Mistress sent me at the peril of my life
For the parson to come down and 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,
Don't care whether I work or no; &c.
Servant—
At four o'clock this morning, the family were 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 nearly went mad,
And the old parson's groans did the Heavens fairly rend;
But I tell you now I felt mighty glad.
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 nearly went mad,
And the old parson's groans did the Heavens fairly rend;
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Brethren—
Hang up the shovel and the hoe,
Don't care whether I work or no, &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 is o'er;
He will no more hang our children on the tree,
To be eat by the Carrion Crow;
He will no more sell our wives to Tennessee,
For he's gone where the slave-holders go.
Our backs no longer he will score;
He will no more feed us on cotton seeds and corn
For his reign of oppression is o'er;
He will no more hang our children on the tree,
To be eat by the Carrion Crow;
He will no more sell our wives to Tennessee,
For he's gone where the slave-holders go.
Hang up the shovel and the hoe,
Take down the fiddle and the bow, &c.
Take down the fiddle and the bow, &c.
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