Honey, de money ain’t been made
    Dat dey could pay fu’ you;
  ‘T ain’t no use a-biddin’; you too high
    Fu’ de riches’ Jap er Jew. 
  Lemme see you smilin’ now,
    How dem teef o’ yo’n do shine,
  An’ de t’ing dat meks me laff
    Is dat all o’ you is mine.

  How ’s I gwine to tell you how I feel,
    How’s I gwine to weigh yo’ wuff? 
  Oh, you sholy is de sweetes’ t’ing
    Walkin’ on dis blessed earf. 
  Possum is de sweetes’ meat,
    Cidah is the nices’ drink,
  But my little lady-bird
    Is de bes’ of all, I t’ink.

  Talk erbout ‘uligion he’pin’ folks
    All thoo de way o’ life,
  Gin de res’ ‘uligion, des’ gin me
    You, my little lady-wife. 
  Den de days kin come all ha’d,
    Den de nights kin come all black,
  Des’ you tek me by de han’,
    An’ I’ll stumble on de track.

  Stumble on de way to Gawd, my chile,
    Stumble on, an’ mebbe fall;
  But I’ll keep a-trottin’, while you lead on,
    Pickin’ an’ a-trottin’, dat’s all. 
  Hol’ me mighty tight, dough, chile,
    Fu’ hit’s rough an’ rocky lan’,
  Heaben ‘s at de en’, I know,
    So I’s leanin’ on yo’ han’.

THE OLD FRONT GATE

  W’en daih ’s chillun in de house,
    Dey keep on a-gittin’ tall;
  But de folks don’ seem to see
    Dat dey ‘s growin’ up at all,
  ‘Twell dey fin’ out some fine day
    Dat de gals has ’menced to grow,
  Wen dey notice as dey pass
    Dat de front gate ‘s saggin’ low.

  Wen de hinges creak an’ cry,
    An’ de bahs go slantin’ down,
  You kin reckon dat hit’s time
    Fu’ to cas’ yo’ eye erroun’,
  ’Cause daih ain’t no ‘sputin’ dis,
    Hit’s de trues’ sign to show
  Dat daih ‘s cou’tin’ goin’ on
    Wen de ol’ front gate sags low.

  Oh, you grumble an’ complain,
    An’ you prop dat gate up right;
  But you notice right nex’ day
    Dat hit’s in de same ol’ plight. 
  So you fin’ dat hit’s a rule,
    An’ daih ain’ no use to blow,
  W’en de gals is growin’ up,
    Dat de front gate will sag low.

  Den you t’ink o’ yo’ young days,
    W’en you cou’ted Sally Jane,
  An’ you so’t o’ feel ashamed
    Fu’ to grumble an’ complain,
  ‘Cause yo’ ricerlection says,
    An’ you know hits wo’ds is so,
  Dat huh pappy had a time
    Wid his front gate saggin’ low.

  So you jes’ looks on an’ smiles
    At ’em leanin’ on de gate,
  Tryin’ to t’ink whut he kin say
    Fu’ to keep him daih so late,
  But you lets dat gate erlone,
    Fu’ yo’ ’sperunce goes to show,
  ’Twell de gals is ma’ied off,
    It gwine keep on saggin’ low.

DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER

  In the east the morning comes,
  Hear the rollin’ of the drums
      On the hill. 
  But the heart that beat as they beat
  In the battle’s raging day heat
      Lieth still. 
  Unto him the night has come,
  Though they roll the morning drum.