I have hyeahd o' lots o' sermons, An' I 've hyeahd o' lots o' prayers, An' I 've listened to some singin' Dat has tuck me up de stairs Of de Glory-Lan' an' set me Jes' below de Mastah's th'one, An' have lef my hea't a-singin' In a happy aftah tone; But dem wu'ds so sweetly murmured Seem to tech de softes' spot, When my mammy says de blessin', An' de co'n pone's hot.
I know my love is true, And oh the day is fair. The sky is clear and blue, The flowers are rich of hue, The air I breathe is rare, I have no grief or care; For my own love is true, And oh 'the day is fair.
My love is false I find, And oh the day is dark. Blows sadly down the wind, While sorrow holds my mind; I do not hear the lark, For quenched is life's dear spark,-- My love is false I find, And oh the day is dark!
For love doth make the day Or dark or doubly bright; Her beams along the way Dispel the gloom and gray. She lives and all is bright, She dies and life is night. For love doth make the day, Or dark or doubly bright.
The change has come, and Helen sleeps-- Not sleeps; but wakes to greater deeps Of wisdom, glory, truth, and light, Than ever blessed her seeking sight, In this low, long, lethargic night, Worn out with strife Which men call life.
The change has come, and who would say "I would it were not come to-day"? What were the respite till to-morrow? Postponement of a certain sorrow, From which each passing day would borrow! Let grief be dumb, The change has come.
The sky of brightest gray seems dark To one whose sky was ever white. To one who never knew a spark, Thro' all his life, of love or light, The grayest cloud seems over-bright.
The robin sounds a beggar's note Where one the nightingale has heard, But he for whom no silver throat Its liquid music ever stirred, Deems robin still the sweetest bird.
On the wide veranda white, In the purple failing light, Sits the master while the sun is lowly burning; And his dreamy thoughts are drowned In the softly flowing sound Of the corn-songs of the field-hands slow returning.
Oh, we hoe de co'n Since de ehly mo'n; Now de sinkin' sun Says de day is done.
O'er the fields with heavy tread, Light of heart and high of head, Though the halting steps be labored, slow, and weary; Still the spirits brave and strong Find a comforter in song, And their corn-song rises ever loud and cheery.