HYMN

  When storms arise
  And dark’ning skies
    About me threat’ning lower,
  To thee, O Lord, I raise mine eyes,
  To thee my tortured spirit flies
    For solace in that hour.

  The mighty arm
  Will let no harm
    Come near me nor befall me;
  Thy voice shall quiet my alarm,
  When life’s great battle waxeth warm—­
    No foeman shall appall me.

  Upon thy breast
  Secure I rest,
    From sorrow and vexation;
  No more by sinful cares oppressed,
  But in thy presence ever blest,
    O God of my salvation.

PREPARATION

  The little bird sits in the nest and sings
    A shy, soft song to the morning light;
  And it flutters a little and prunes its wings. 
    The song is halting and poor and brief,
    And the fluttering wings scarce stir a leaf;
  But the note is a prelude to sweeter things,
    And the busy bill and the flutter slight
    Are proving the wings for a bolder flight!

THE DESERTED PLANTATION

  Oh, de grubbin’-hoe ‘s a-rustin’ in de co’nah,
    An’ de plow ‘s a-tumblin’ down in de fiel’,
  While de whippo’will ‘s a-wailin’ lak a mou’nah
    When his stubbo’n hea’t is tryin’ ha’d to yiel’.

  In de furrers whah de co’n was allus wavin’,
    Now de weeds is growin’ green an’ rank an’ tall;
  An’ de swallers roun’ de whole place is a-bravin’
    Lak dey thought deir folks had allus owned it all.

  An’ de big house stan’s all quiet lak an’ solemn,
    Not a blessed soul in pa’lor, po’ch, er lawn;
  Not a guest, ner not a ca’iage lef’ to haul ’em,
    Fu’ de ones dat tu’ned de latch-string out air gone.

  An’ de banjo’s voice is silent in de qua’ters,
    D’ ain’t a hymn ner co’n-song ringin’ in de air;
  But de murmur of a branch’s passin’ waters
    Is de only soun’ dat breks de stillness dere.

  Whah ‘s de da’kies, dem dat used to be a-dancin’
    Evry night befo’ de ole cabin do’? 
  Whah ‘s de chillun, dem dat used to be a-prancin’
    Er a-rollin’ in de san’ er on de flo’?

  Whah ‘s ole Uncle Mordecai an’ Uncle Aaron? 
    Whah ‘s Aunt Doshy, Sam, an’ Kit, an’ all de res’? 
  Whah ’s ole Tom de da’ky fiddlah, how ‘s he farin’? 
    Whah ‘s de gals dat used to sing an’ dance de bes’?

  Gone! not one o’ dem is lef’ to tell de story;
    Dey have lef’ de deah ole place to fall away. 
  Could n’t one o’ dem dat seed it in its glory
    Stay to watch it in de hour of decay?

  Dey have lef’ de ole plantation to de swallers,
    But it hol’s in me a lover till de las’;
  Fu’ I fin’ hyeah in de memory dat follers
    All dat loved me an’ dat I loved in de pas’.

  So I’ll stay an’ watch de deah ole place an’ tend it
    Ez I used to in de happy days gone by. 
  ’Twell de othah Mastah thinks it’s time to end it,
    An’ calls me to my qua’ters in de sky.