Lawdy, won’ po’ granny raih
    W’en she see de she’f;
  W’en I t’ink erbout huh face,
    I’s mos’ ’shamed myse’f. 
  Well, she gone, an ’hyeah I is,
    Back behime de do’—­
  Look hyeah! gran’ ’s done ’spected me,
    Dain’t no sweets no mo’.

  Evah sweet is hid erway,
    Job des done up brown;
  Pusson t’ink dat someun t’ought
    Dey was t’eves erroun’;
  Dat des breaks my heart in two,
    Oh how bad I feel! 
  Des to t’ink my own gramma
    B’lieved dat I ’u’d steal!

PUTTIN’ THE BABY AWAY

  Eight of ’em hyeah all tol’ an’ yet
  Dese eyes o’ mine is wringin’ wet;
  My haht’s a-achin’ ha’d an’ so’,
  De way hit nevah ached befo’;
  My soul’s a-pleadin’, “Lawd, give back
  Dis little lonesome baby black,
  Dis one, dis las’ po’ he’pless one
  Whose little race was too soon run.”

  Po’ Little Jim, des fo’ yeahs ol’
  A-layin’ down so still an’ col’. 
  Somehow hit don’ seem ha’dly faih,
  To have my baby lyin’ daih
  Wi’dout a smile upon his face,
  Wi’dout a look erbout de place;
  He ust to be so full o’ fun
  Hit don’ seem right dat all’s done, done.

  Des eight in all but I don’ caih,
  Dey wa’nt a single one to spaih;
  De worl’ was big, so was my haht,
  An’ dis hyeah baby owned hit’s paht;
  De house was po’, dey clothes was rough,
  But daih was meat an’ meal enough;
  An’ daih was room fu’ little Jim;
  Oh!  Lawd, what made you call fu’ him?.

  It do seem monst’ous ha’d to-day,
  To lay dis baby boy away;
  I’d learned to love his teasin’ smile,
  He mought o’ des been lef’ erwhile;
  You wouldn’t t’ought wid all de folks,
  Dat’s roun’ hyeah mixin’ teahs an’ jokes,
  De Lawd u’d had de time to see
  Dis chile an’ tek him ’way f’om me.

  But let it go, I reckon Jim,
  ’Ll des go right straight up to Him
  Dat took him f’om his mammy’s nest
  An’ lef dis achin’ in my breas’,
  An’ lookin’ in dat fathah’s face
  An’ ‘memberin’ dis lone sorrerin’ place,
  He’ll say, “Good Lawd, you ought to had
  Do sumpin’ fu’ to comfo’t dad!”

THE FISHER CHILD’S LULLABY

  The wind is out in its rage to-night,
    And your father is far at sea. 
  The rime on the window is hard and white
    But dear, you are near to me. 
      Heave ho, weave low,
        Waves of the briny deep;
      Seethe low and breathe low,
        But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.

  The little boat rocks in the cove no more,
    But the flying sea-gulls wail;
  I peer through the darkness that wraps the shore,
    For sight of a home set sail. 
      Heave ho, weave low,
        Waves of the briny deep;
      Seethe low and breathe low,
        But sleep you, my little one, sleep, sleep.