Wal, so I went along an’ hearn most an impressive sarmon
  About besprinklin’ Afriky with fourth-proof dew o’ Harmon: 
  He did n’ put no weaknin’ in, but gin it tu us hot,
  ‘Z ef he an’ Satan’d ben two bulls in one five-acre lot: 
  I don’t purtend to foller him, but give ye jes’ the heads;
  For pulpit ellerkence, you know, ‘most ollers kin’ o’ spreads. 
  Ham’s seed wuz gin to us in chairge, an’ shouldn’t we be li’ble
  In Kingdom Come, ef we kep’ back their priv’lege in the Bible? 
  The cusses an’ the promerses make one gret chain, an’ ef
  You snake one link out here, one there, how much on’t ud be lef’? 
  All things wuz gin to man for’s use, his sarvice, an’ delight;
  An’ don’t the Greek an’ Hebrew words thet mean a Man mean White? 
  Ain’t it belittlin’ the Good Book in all its proudes’ featurs
  To think ‘t wuz wrote for black an’ brown an’ ’lasses-colored creaturs,
  Thet could n’ read it, ef they would, nor ain’t by lor allowed to,
  But ough’ to take wut we think suits their naturs, an’ be proud to? 
  Warn’t it more prof’table to bring your raw materil thru
  Where you can work it inta grace an’ inta cotton, tu,
  Than sendin’ missionaries out where fevers might defeat ’em,
  An’ ef the butcher did n’ call, their p’rishioners might eat ’em? 
  An’ then, agin, wut airthly use?  Nor ’t warn’t our fault, in so fur
  Ez Yankee skippers would keep on a-totin’ on ’em over. 
  ‘T improved the whites by savin’ ’em from ary need o’ workin’,
  An’ kep’ the blacks from bein’ lost thru idleness an’ shirkin’;
  We took to ’em ez nat’ral ez a barn-owl doos to mice,
  An’ hed our hull time on our hands to keep us out o’ vice;
  It made us feel ez pop’lar ez a hen doos with one chicken,
  An’ fill our place in Natur’s scale by givin’ ’em a lickin’: 
  For why should Caesar git his dues more ‘n Juno, Pomp, an’ Cuffy? 
  It’s justifyin’ Ham to spare a nigger when he’s stuffy. 
  Where’d their soles go tu, like to know, ef we should let ’em ketch
  Freeknowledgism an’ Fourierism an’ Speritoolism an’ sech? 
  When Satan sets himself to work to raise his very bes’ muss,
  He scatters roun’ onscriptur’l views relatin’ to Ones’mus.

  You’d ough’ to seen, though, how his face an’ argymunce an’ figgers
  Drawed tears o’ real conviction from a lot o’ pen’tent niggers! 
  It warn’t like Wilbur’s meetin’, where you’re shet up in a pew,
  Your dickeys sorrin’ off your ears, an’ bilin’ to be thru;
  Ther’ wuz a tent clost by thet hed a kag o’ sunthin’ in it,
  Where you could go, ef you wuz dry, an’ damp ye in a minute;
  Au’ ef you did dror off a spell, ther’ wuzn’t no occasion
  To lose the thread, because, ye see, he bellered like all Bashan. 
  It’s dry work follerin’ argymunce, an’ so, ‘twix’ this an’ thet,
  I felt conviction weighin’ down somehow inside my hat;
  It growed an’ growed like Jonah’s