"The Freedman's Song" (1866)
[Cover page, only, says: Freedmans']
[246188; 145694; 10]
Words by
A. R. Watson
Music by
F. W. Smith

New Orleans: A. E. Blackmar, 167 Canal St. 
Engraved at Clayton's
Plate No. 251_4
[Source: 1866-200002555@LoC/CWM]

1. A Freedman san on a pile of bricks, 
As the rain was pattering down, 
His shoes were worn and his coat was torn, 
And his hat was without a crown; 
He viewed the clouds and he viewed himself, 
And he shook the wet from his head, 
And a tear dimm‘d his eyes as he saw go by, 
A boy with a loaf of bread, 
And he raised his voice in a doleful tone 
That sounded like a gong, 
While the rain came down on his happy crown, 
And sang to himself this song, 
And sang to himself this song.

2. De wind blows cold but I’se done with toil,
And left de cotton patch,
I guess ole massa tink he count 
De chickens ’fore dey hatch, 
I totes no more de heavy load 
Nor drives ole Misses ’round, 
I wonder who dey’s gwine to get, 
To work de patch ob ground. 
Den fling aawy de rake and hoe, 
Dis am de juberlee, 
De rain may come, de wind may blow, 
But bress de Lord I’se free, 
But bress de Lord I’se free!

3. I tink last night an I tried to sleep,
Upon de muddy ground,
While de rain was droppin’ on my head
And de wind was whizzin’ ’round,
I’d like to hab my light’ood fire 
And my cabin back again,
For de wedder’s getting berry cold,
Out here in all dis rain. 
But den I’se done with rake and hoe, 
Dis am de juber lee, 
De rain may come, de wind may blow, 
But bress de Lord I’se free, 
But bress de Lord I’se free!

4. I’se got all ragged ’bout de knees,
My shoes are worn out too,
My coat’s so old dat from each sleeve 
De elbows comin’ froo, 
And dars de children dat once played 
In shirttail ’bout de yard, 
I cannot buy a shirt for dem, 
De times so berry hard. 
But fling away de rake and hoe, 
Dis am de juberlee, 
De rain may come, de wind may blow, 
But bress de Lord dey’s free, 
But bress de Lord dey’s free!

5. De odder day when Pinkney died,
I tink is berry good,
Dat de dear Lord should take her off 
Before dis cold wind blowed, 
But den ’twas hard to see her die 
I wish she’d not been born, 
I’se ’fraid she famished, for she asked 
About de rise and corn. 
But den she’s done with rake and hoe, 
Dis am de juberlee, 
De rain may come, de wind may blow, 
But bress de Lord she’s free, 
But bress de Lord she’s free!

6. I dreampt last night ole massa come,
And took us home with he,
To de log cabin dat we left 
When fust day sot us free, 
And dar I hailt de light’ood fire, 
And Emnab cook de yam, 
Dey say dat dreams are sometimes true! 
I wonder if dis am. 
But den I’se flung away de hoe, 
To hab a juberlee, 
De rain may come, de wind may blow, 
But bress de Lord I’se free, 
But bress de Lord I’se free!

7. And Dinah sits dere on de ground,
And looks so thin and poor,
She cannot sing de songs she sung 
About de cabin door, 
Her poor old limbs are almost bare, 
Her cheekbones comin’ froo. 
I  almost wish de Lord would come, 
And take her  up dar too. 
But den she’s done with rake and hoe, 
Dis am de juberlee, 
De rain may come, de wind may blow, 
But bress de Lord she’s free, 
But bress de Lord she’s free!