Dat 's all right, I ain't a-sputin' not a t'ing dat soun's lak fac', But you don't ketch folks a-grinnin' wid a misery in de back; An' you don't fin' dem a-smilin' w'en dey 's hongry ez kin be, Leastways, dat 's how human natur' allus seems to 'pear to me. We is mos' all putty likely fu' to have our little cares, An' I think we 'se doin' fus' rate w'en we jes' go long and bears, Widout breakin' up ouah faces in a sickly so't o' grin, W'en we knows dat in ouah innards we is p'intly mad ez sin. Oh dey 's times fu' bein' pleasant an' fu' goin' smilin' roun', 'Cause I don't believe in people allus totin' roun' a frown, But it's easy 'nough to titter w'en de stew is smokin' hot, But hit's mighty ha'd to giggle w'en dey's nuffin' in de pot. A PREFERENCE Mastah drink his ol' Made'a, Missy drink huh sherry wine, Ovahseah lak his whiskey, But dat othah drink is mine, Des' 'lasses an' watah, 'lasses an' watah. Wen you git a steamin' hoe-cake On de table, go way, man! 'D ain but one t'ing to go wid it, 'Sides de gravy in de pan, Dat 's 'lasses an' watah, 'lasses an' watah. W'en hit 's 'possum dat you eatin', 'Simmon beer is moughty sweet; But fu' evahday consumin' 'D ain't no mo'tal way to beat Des' 'lasses an' watah, 'lasses an' watah. W'y de bees is allus busy, An' ain' got no time to was'? Hit's beca'se dey knows de honey Dey 's a makin', gwine to tas' Lak 'lasses an' watah, 'lasses an' watah. Oh, hit 's moughty mil' an' soothin', An' hit don' go to yo' haid; Dat 's de reason I 's a-backin' Up de othah wo'ds I said, "Des 'lasses an' watah, 'lasses an' watah." THE DEBT This is the debt I pay Just for one riotous day, Years of regret and grief, Sorrow without relief. Pay it I will to the end-- Until the grave, my friend, Gives me a true release-- Gives me the clasp of peace. Slight was the thing I bought, Small was the debt I thought, Poor was the loan at best-- God! but the interest! ON THE DEDICATION OF DOROTHY HALL TUSKEGEE, ALA., APRIL 22, 1901. Not to the midnight of the gloomy past, Do we revert to-day; we look upon The golden present and the future vast Whose vistas show us visions of the dawn. Nor shall the sorrows of departed years The sweetness of our tranquil souls annoy, The sunshine of our hopes dispels the tears, And clears our eyes to see this later joy. Not ever in the years that God hath given Have we gone friendless down the thorny way, Always the clouds of pregnant black were riven By flashes from His own eternal day. The women of a race should be its pride; We glory in the strength our mothers had, We glory that this strength was not denied To labor bravely, nobly, and be glad.