You know up North, though secs an’ things air plenty ez you please,
Ther’ warn’t nut one on ’em thet come jes’ square with my idees: 
They all on ’em wuz too much mixed with Covenants o’ Works,
An’ would hev answered jest ez wal for Afrikins an’ Turks,
Fer where’s a Christian’s privilege an’ his rewards eusuin’,
Ef ‘taint perfessin’ right and eend ‘thout nary need o’ doin’? 10
I dessay they suit workin’-folks thet ain’t noways pertic’lar,
But nut your Southun gen’leman thet keeps his parpendic’lar;
I don’t blame nary man thet casts his lot along o’ his folks,
But ef you cal’late to save me, ’t must be with folks thet is folks;
Cov’nants o’ works go ’ginst my grain, but down here I’ve found out
The true fus’-fem’ly A 1 plan,—­here’s how it come about. 
When I fus’ sot up with Miss S., sez she to me, sez she,
’Without you git religion, Sir, the thing can’t never be;
Nut but wut I respeck,’ sez she, ’your intellectle part,
But you wun’t noways du for me athout a change o’ heart; 20
Nothun religion works wal North, but it’s ez soft ez spruce,
Compared to ourn, for keepin’ sound,’ sez she, ’upon the goose;
A day’s experunce ’d prove to ye, ez easy ’z pull a trigger. 
It takes the Southun pint o’ view to raise ten bales a nigger;
You’ll fin’ thet human natur’, South, ain’t wholesome more ’n skin-deep,
An’ once ‘t a darkie’s took with it, he wun’t be wuth his keep,’
’How shell I git it, Ma’am?’—­sez I, ‘Attend the nex’ camp-meetin’,’
Sez she, ‘an’ it’ll come to ye ez cheap ez onbleached sheetin’.’ 
Wal, so I went along an’ hearn most an impressive sarmon
About besprinklin’ Afriky with fourth-proof dew o’ Harmon:  30
He didn’t 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; 39
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 ‘twuz wrote for black an’ brown an’ ’lasses-colored creaturs,
Thet couldn’ 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 didn’ call, their p’rishioners might eat ’em? 
An’ then, agin, wut airthly use?  Nor ’twarn’t