"Song of the
Negro Boatman" (1862)
Words by John Greeleaf Whittier, 1807-1892
Melody by J. W. Dadman,
Arranged, with a pianoforte accompaniment, 
by Albert S. Allen

Boston: Russell & Patee, 1 68 Freemont St.
[Source: 024/111@Levy]

1. Oh, praise an tanks! 
De Lord he come 
To set de people free; 
An’ massa tink it day ob doom. 
An’ we ob jubilee. 
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves 
He jus’ as ’trong as den; 
He say de word; we las’ night slaves; 
Today, de Lord’s freemen.

CHORUS [sung after each verse]
De yam will grow, de cotton blow, 
We’ll hab de rice an’ corn; 
Oh, nebber you fear, if nebber you hear 
De driver blow his horn!

2. Ole massa on he trabbles gone; 
He leab de land hehind; 
De Lord’s breff blow him furder on. 
Like cornshuck in de wind. 
We own de hoe, we own de plow. 
We own de hands dat hold; 
We sell de pig, we sell de cow. 
But nebber chile be sold.

3. We pray de Lord; he gib us signs 
Dad some day we be free; 
De Norf wind tell it to de pines, 
De wildduck to de sea; 
We tink it when de churchbell ring, 
We dream it in de dreams; 
De ricebird mean it when he sing, 
De eagle when he screams.

4. We know de promise nebber fail, 
An’ nebber lie de word; 
So, like de postles in de jail, 
We waited for de Lord; 
An now he open ebery door 
An’ trow away de key; 
He tink we lub him so before, 
We lub him better free.