Oh, spar' us de s'ords and de famines! don't drive de Lord
fur ter use 'em! Come up hyear now dis ebenin', an' let us all try ter
hep yer git thu. Leave yer dancin' an' yer singin' an' yer playin',
leave yer whiskey an' yer cussin' an' yer swearin', an' tu'n yer min's
ter de s'ords an' de famines.
"Wen de Lord fotches dem s'ords outn Eden, an' dem famines outn Egyp',
an' tu'n 'em erloose on dis plantation, I tell yer, mun, dar's gwine
be skyeared niggers hyear. Yer won't see no dancin' den; yer won't
hyear no cussin', nor no chickens hollin' uv er night; dey won't be no
reel chunes sung den; yer'll want ter go ter prayin', an' yer'll be er
callin' on us wat is stedfus in de faith fur ter hep yer; but we can't
hep yer den. We'll be er tryin' on our wings an' er floppin' 'em"
("Yes, bless God!" thus Uncle Snake-bit Bob), "an' er gittin' ready
fur ter start upuds! We'll be er lacin' up dem golden shoes" ("Yes,
marster!" thus Mammy), "fur ter walk thu dem pearly gates. We can't
stop den. We can't 'liver no message den; de Book'll be shot. So,
bredren, hyear it dis ebenin'. 'Dey young men shall die by de s'ord,
an' dey sons an' dey daughters by de famine.'
"Now, I've said ernuff; day's no use fur ter keep er talkin', an' all
you backslidin' chu'ch membahs, tremblin' sinners, an' weepin' monahs,
come up hyear dis ebenin', an' try ter git erroun' dem s'ords an' dem
famines.
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