Say, it's nice a-gittin' back, When yore pulse is growin' slack, An' yore breath begins to wheeze Like a fair-set valley breeze; Kind o' nice to set aroun' On the old familiar groun', Knowin' that when Death does come, That he'll find you right at home. THE OLD CABIN In de dead of night I sometimes, Git to t'inkin' of de pas' An' de days w'en slavery helt me In my mis'ry--ha'd an' fas'. Dough de time was mighty tryin', In dese houahs somehow hit seem Dat a brightah light come slippin' Thoo de kivahs of my dream. An' my min' fu'gits de whuppins Draps de feah o' block an' lash An' flies straight to somep'n' joyful In a secon's lightnin' flash. Den hit seems I see a vision Of a dearah long ago Of de childern tumblin' roun' me By my rough ol' cabin do'. Talk about yo' go'geous mansions An' yo' big house great an' gran', Des bring up de fines' palace Dat you know in all de lan'. But dey's somep'n' dearah to me, Somep'n' faihah to my eyes In dat cabin, less you bring me To yo' mansion in de skies. I kin see de light a-shinin' Thoo de chinks atween de logs, I kin hyeah de way-off bayin' Of my mastah's huntin' dogs, An' de neighin' of de hosses Stampin' on de ol' bahn flo', But above dese soun's de laughin' At my deah ol' cabin do'. We would gethah daih at evenin', All my frien's 'ud come erroun' An' hit wan't no time, twell, bless you, You could hyeah de banjo's soun'. You could see de dahkies dancin' Pigeon wing an' heel an' toe-- Joyous times I tell you people Roun' dat same ol' cabin do'. But at times my t'oughts gits saddah, Ez I riccolec' de folks, An' dey frolickin' an' talkin' Wid dey laughin' an dey jokes. An' hit hu'ts me w'en I membahs Dat I'll nevah see no mo' Dem ah faces gethered smilin' Roun' dat po' ol' cabin do'. DESPAIR Let me close the eyes of my soul That I may not see What stands between thee and me. Let me shut the ears of my heart That I may not hear A voice that drowns yours, my dear. Let me cut the cords of my life, Of my desolate being, Since cursed is my hearing and seeing. CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES Tim Murphy's gon' walkin' wid Maggie O'Neill, O chone! If I was her muther, I'd frown on sich foolin', O chone! I'm sure it's unmutherlike, darin' an' wrong To let a gyrul hear tell the sass an' the song Of every young felly that happens along, O chone! An' Murphy, the things that's be'n sed of his doin', O chone! 'Tis a cud that no dacent folks wants to be chewin', O chone! If he came to my door wid his cane on a twirl, Fur to thry to make love to you, Biddy, my girl, Ah, wouldn't I send him away wid a whirl, O chone!