Oh, now, Missus, wus I ’sleep?
I is sorry, sho!
I des set down heah ter res’
Wid my head down, so.
En I meant to pray fo’ grace
Des a little bit,
Kaze I got a sinnin’ soul,
En I ’knowledge it.
Yes, I knows you pays me well
Fo’ de work I do,
En I orter stick ter it
So dat I please you.
But I couldn’t he’p it, Miss,
If I shet my eyes;
God done made dem wid dese hinges,
En He sho am wise.
Why’n’t I sleep at night, you as’?
Missus, you don’t know
How dem voices call en call,
Till I hab ter go.
En when once I git in church,
Dar I sho gwine stay
Till de stars am gittin’ pale
’Fo’e de light ob day.
Dar’s a meetin’ gwine on
Wid de Baptis’ now,
En do I ain’t jine dat church,
I kin go, I ’low;
Dey don’t shet de do’ on me
’Cept when dey commune,
En it won’t be time fo’ dat,
So dey say, right soon.
My, dey hab a whoopin’ time
Roun’ dar eb’ry night,
En dat preacher sho kin put
Down de law des right;
En he preach de holy word
Till dem niggers shout,—
Till dey leab dey seats at las’,
Dancin’ all erbout.

Anthea Allen got religion
Roun’ dar las’ night, sho,
En she clap her han’s en waltz
Up en down de flo’,
Singin’ “Glory! Hallelujah!
I is on de way!
Angels peepin’ down frum heaven
Beckon me ter-day.”
Den she fall down in a trance,
Right dar on de flo’,
En dem darkies po’ de camphor
Onto her, fo’ sho;
But she don’t wake up at all—
Lak de dead she lay,
En we lef’ her lyin’ dar
When we come away.
Dey sho take a big collection
At dat church las’ night,
En dat money on de table
Sho wus shinin’ bright.
En de preacher in de pulpit
Stan’ up straight en say:
“Dem dat am not got a cent—
Dey kin go away!”
En he say: “Come up en bring
Money ter de Lawd!
Dat He love de chee’ful giver,
He say in His word;
What you gib ter Him ter-night
Am not frowed away,
Kaze de bread cas’ on de sea
Gwine come back some day.”
En dem niggers make a noise
Passin’ up en down,
Some wid coppers, some wid nickels,
Some wid dimes, I’m boun’;
En dey make de music ring,
While de preacher say:
“Oh, I lak ter see de money
Comin’ up dat way!”
I sot up till mos’ dis mornin’
At dat church las’ night;
Dat how come my eyes don’t feel
Wide awake en bright;
But I sorry dat I let em
Shet deysel’s up tight
When I workin’ heah fo’ you—
Kaze you treat me right!