Thou art my lute, by thee I sing,… My being is attuned to thee. Thou settest all my words a—wing, And meltest me to melody. Thou art my life, by thee I live,

Jes’ lak toddy wahms you thoo’ Sets yo’ haid a reelin’, Meks you ovah good and new, Dat ‘s de way I ’s feelin’. Seems to me hit ‘s summah time,

GRASS commence a—comin’ Thoo de thawin’ groun’, Evah bird dat whistles Keepin’ noise erroun’; Cain’t sleep in de mo’nin’,

OH, I am hurt to death, my Love; The shafts of Fate have pierced m… And I am sick and weary of The endless pain and smart. My soul is weary of the strife,

De times is mighty stirrin’ ‘mong… Dey ’sputin’ an’ dey argyin’ an’ f… An’ all dis monst’ous trouble dat… Is 'bout dat Lucy Jackson dat was… She was de preachah’s favoured, an…

The smell of the sea in my nostril… The sound of the sea in mine ears; The touch of the spray on my burni… Like the mist of reluctant tears. The blue of the sky above me,

Within a London garret high, Above the roofs and near the sky, My ill—rewarding pen I ply To win me bread. This little chamber, six by four,

IT’s all a farce, —these tales th… About the breezes sighing, And moans astir o’er field and del… Because the year is dying. Such principles are most absurd, —

TWO little boots all rough an’ wo… Two little boots! Laws, I’s kissed 'em times befo’, Dese little boots! Seems de toes a—peepin’ thoo

Caught Susanner whistlin’; well, It’s most nigh too good to tell. ‘Twould ’a’ b’en too good to see Ef it had n’t b’en fur me, Comin’ up so soft an’ sly

W’EN de colo’ed ban’ comes ma’chi… Don’t you people stan’ daih starin… Ain’t dey playin’? Hip, hooray! Stir yo’ stumps an’ cleah de way, Fu’ de music dat dey mekin’ can’t…

We is gathahed hyeah, my brothahs, In dis howlin’ wildaness, Fu’ to speak some words of comfo’t To each othah in distress. An’ we chooses fu’ ouah subjic’

In Life’s Red Sea with faith I p… And wait the sound of that sustain… Which long ago the men of Israel… When Pharaoh’s host behind them,… Raged on, consuming with revengefu…

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’;

SINCE I left the city’s heat For this sylvan, cool retreat, High upon the hill—side here Where the air is clean and clear, I have lost the urban ways.