SABRA’S SPERITUAL.

  We’s on de road to Zion,
  We’s on de paf’ to Zion,
  But dar’s a roarin’ lion,
    For Satan stops de way. 
  Oh! lef’ us pass, ole Masta,
  Oh! lef’ us pass, strong Masta,
  Oh! lef’ us pass, rich Masta—­
    ’T am near de break ob day!

  We’s on de road to Zion,
  We’s on de paf’ to Zion,
  But wid his red-hot iron
    He bars de hebbenly gate
  Oh! lef’ us pass, ole Masta,
  Oh! lef’ us pass, kin’ Masta,
  Oh! lef’ us pass, sweet Masta,
    For we is mighty late!

  Does you hear de rain a-fallin’? 
  Does you hear de prophets callin’? 
  Does you hear de cherubs squallin’
    Wat’s settin’ on de gate? 
  Oh! lef’ us pass, ole Masta,
  Oh! step dis side, kin’ Masta,
  Unbar de do’, dear Masta,
    We dar’ no longer wait!

  Does you hear de win’ a blowin’? 
  Does you hear de chickens crowin’? 
  Does you see da niggars hoein’? 
    It am de break ob day! 
  Oh! lef’ us by, good Masta,
  Oh! stan’ aside, ole Masta,
  Oh! light your lamp, sweet Sabiour,
    For we done los’ our way!

  We’ll gib you all our money. 
  We’ll fotch you yams and honey,
  We’ll fill your pipe wid ’baccer,
    An’ twiss your tail wid hay! 
  We’ll shod your hoofs wid copper,
  We’ll knob your horns wid silber,
  We’ll cook you rice and gopher,
    Ef you will clar de way!

  He’s gwine away, my bredderin,
  He’s stepped aside, my sisterin,
  He’s clared de track, my chillun,
    Now make do trumpets bray! 
  We tanks you kindly, Masta,
  We gibs you tanks, ole Masta,
  You is a buckra Masta,
    Whateber white folks say!

CHAPTER XII.

During these last days of my captivity, Mrs. Clayton was truly a piteous sight to see—­swathed in flannel and helpless as an infant, yet still perversely vigilant as she had been in her hours of health, and determined on the subject of opiates as before.  I sometimes think she feared to place herself wholly in my hands, as she must have been under the influence of a powerful anodyne, and that, in spite of her professions of confidence, and even affection, she feared me as her foe.  God knows that, had it been to save my own life, I would not have harmed one hair of her viperish head, as flat on top as if the stone of the Indian had been bound upon its crown from babyhood, yet full of brains to bursting around the base of the skull.