At De Meetin’.

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!