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 this old garden, fair, I walk… Heart—charmed with all the beauty… The rich, luxuriant grasses’ cooli… The wall’s environ, ivy—decked and… The waving branches with the wind…

Oh, summer has clothed the earth In a cloak from the loom of the su… And a mantle, too, of the skies’ s… And a belt where the rivers run. And now for the kiss of the wind,

THE moon has left the sky, love, The stars are hiding now, And frowning on the world, love, Night bares her sable brow. The snow is on the ground, love,

HAIN’T you see my Mandy Lou, Is it true? Whaih you been f’om day to day, Whaih, I say? Dat you say you nevah seen

I THINK that though the clouds… That though the waves dash o’er th… Yet after while the light will com… And in calm waters safe at home The bark will anchor.

If Death should claim me for her… And softly I should falter from y… Oh, tell me, loved one, would my m… And would my image in your heart a… Or should I be as some forgotten…

‘Twixt a smile and a tear, ’Twixt a song and a sigh, 'Twixt the day and the dark, When the night draweth nigh. Ah, sunshine may fade

Treat me nice, Miss Mandy Jane, Treat me nice. Dough my love has tu’ned my brain, Treat me nice. I ain’t done a t’ing to shame,

It’s hot to—day. The bees is buzz… Kinder don’t—keer—like aroun’ An’ fur off the warm air dances O’er the parchin’ roofs in town. In the brook the cows is standin’;

SWEETEST of the flowers a—bloo… In the fragrant vernal days Is the Lily of the Valley With its soft, retiring ways. Well, you chose this humble blosso…

THE wind is out in its rage to—ni… And your father is far at sea. The rime on the window is hard and… But dear, you are near to me. Heave ho, weave low,

By rugged ways and thro’ the night We struggle blindly toward the lig… And groping, stumbling, ever pray For sight of long delaying day. The cruel thorns beside the road

I like to hear of wealth and gold, And El Doradoes in their glory; I like for silks and satins bold To sweep and rustle through a stor… The nightingale is sweet of song;