Mistah Ba’r fall sick—­dee sont fur Doc’ Hyar,
“O, Doctah, come queeck, an’ see Mr. B’ar;
He mighty nigh daid des sho’ ez you b’on!”
“Too much ur young peeg, too much ur green co’n,”
Ez he put on he hat, said Ol’ Doc’ Hyar;
“I’ll tek ‘long meh lawnce, an’ lawnce Mistah B’ar,”
                        Said Ol’ Doc’ Hyar,
                        Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

Mistah B’ar he groaned, Mistah B’ar he growled,
W’ile de ol’ Miss B’ar an’ de chillen howled;
Doctah Hyar tuk out he sha’p li’l lawnce,
An’ pyu’ced Mistah B’ar twel he med him prawnce
Den grab up he hat an’ grab up he cane
“Blam!” go de do’ an’ he gone lak de train,
                        Dis Ol’ Doc’ Hyar,
                        Whar lib up dar
Een ur mighty fine house on ur mighty high hill.

But de vay naix day Mistah B’ar he daid;
Wen dee tell Doc’ Hyar, he des scratch he haid: 
“Ef pahsons git well ur pahsons git wu’s,
Money got ter come een de Ol’ Hyar’s pu’s;
Not wut folkses does, but fur wut dee know
Does de folkses git paid”—­an’ Hyar larfed low,
                        Dis Ol’ Doc’ Hyar,
                        Whar lib up dar
Een de mighty fine house on de mighty high hill!

WHEN OL’ SIS’ JUDY PRAY

When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray,
De teahs come stealin’ down my cheek,
De voice ur God widin me speak’;
I see myse’f so po’ an’ weak,
Down on my knees de cross I seek,
When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray.

When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray,
De thun’ers ur Mount Sin-a-i
Comes rushin’ down f’um up on high—­
De Debbil tu’n his back an’ fly
While sinnahs loud fur pa’don cry,
When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray.

When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray,
Ha’d sinnahs trimble in dey seat
Ter hyuh huh voice in sorro ’peat;
(While all de chu’ch des sob an’ weep)
“O Shepa’d, dese, dy po’ los’ sheep!”
When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray.

When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray,
De whole house hit des rock an’ moan
Ter see huh teahs an’ hyuh huh groan;
Dar’s somepin’ in Sis’ Judy’s tone
Dat melt all ha’ts dough med ur stone
When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray.

When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray,
Salvation’s light comes pourin’ down—­
Hit fill de chu’ch an’ all de town—­
Why, angels’ robes go rustlin’ ‘roun’,
An’ hebben on de Yurf am foun’,
When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray.

When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray,
My soul go sweepin’ up on wings,
An’ loud de chu’ch wid “Glory!” rings,
An’ wide de gates ur Jahsper swings
Twel you hyuh ha’ps wid golding strings,
When ol’ Sis’ Judy pray.

COMPENSATION

O, rich young lord, thou ridest by
With looks of high disdain;
It chafes me not thy title high,
Thy blood of oldest strain. 
The lady riding at thy side
Is but in name thy promised bride,
  Ride on, young lord, ride on!