'Dey young men shall die by de
s'ord, an' dey sons an' dey daughters by de famine.'
"Oh, you chu'ch membahs wat shouts an' prays uv er Sundays an' steals
watermillions uv er week-days! Oh, you young men wat's er cussin' an'
er robbin' uv henrooses! Oh, you young women wat's er singin' uv reel
chunes! Oh, you chil'en wat's er sassin' uv ole folks! Oh, you ole
pussons wat's er fussin' an' quarlin'! Oh, you young folks wat's er
dancin' an' prancin'! Oh, you niggers wat's er slightin' uv yer wuck!
Oh! pay 'tenshun ter de message dis ebenin', caze yer gwine wake up
some er deze mornin's, an' dar at yer do's 'll be de s'ord an' de
famine.
"'Burhol', I'll punish um! dey young men shall die by de s'ord, an'
dey sons an' dey daughters by de famine.'
"Bredren, an' likewise sistren, yer dunno wat yer foolin' wid! Dem
s'ords an' dem famines is de wust things dey is. Dey's wuss'n de
rheumatiz; dey's wuss'n de toof-ache; dey's wuss'n de cramps; dey's
wuss'n de lockjaw; dey's wuss'n anything. Wen Adam an' Ebe wuz turnt
outn de gyarden, an' de Lord want ter keep 'em out, wat's dat he put
dar fur ter skyer 'em? Wuz it er elfunt? No, sar! Wuz it er lion? No,
sar! He had plenty beases uv eby kin', but den he didn' cyar 'boutn
usen uv 'em. Wuz hit rain or hail, or fire, or thunder, or lightnin'?
No, my bredren, hit wuz er s'ord! Caze de Lord knowed weneber dey seed
de s'ord dar dey wan't gwine ter facin' it.
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