I felt sorry for old Mistus; She got too full to speak; But I saw the great big tear-drops A running down her cheek. Mister Thomas too was troubled With choosing on that night, Betwixt staying with his mother And joining in the fight. Soon down into the village came A call for volunteers; Mistus gave up Mister Thomas, With many sighs and tears. His uniform was real handsome; He looked so brave and strong; But somehow I couldn’t help thinking His fighting must be wrong. Though the house was very lonesome, I thought ’twould all come right, For I felt somehow or other We was mixed up in that fight. And I said to Uncle Jacob, “Now old Mistus feels the sting, For this parting with your children Is a mighty dreadful thing.” “Never mind,” said Uncle Jacob, “Just wait and watch and pray, For I feel right sure and certain, Slavery’s bound to pass away; “Because I asked the Spirit, If God is good and just, How it happened that the masters Did grind us to the dust. “And something reasoned right inside, Such should not always be; And you could not beat it out my head, The Spirit spoke to me.” And his dear old eyes would brighten, And his lips put on a smile, Saying, “Pick up faith and courage, And just wait a little while.” Mistus prayed up in the parlor, That the Secesh all might win; We were praying in the cabins, Wanting freedom to begin. Mister Thomas wrote to Mistus, Telling ’bout the Bull’s Run fight, That his troops had whipped the Yankees And put them all to flight. Mistus’ eyes did fairly glisten; She laughed and praised the South, But I thought some day she’d laugh On tother side her mouth. I used to watch old Mistus’ face, And when it looked quite long I would say to Cousin Milly, The battle’s going wrong; Not for us, but for the Rebels,— My heart ’would fairly skip, When Uncle Jacob used to say, “The North is bound to whip.”