Three Negro Spirituals
Love is a proud and gentle thing, a better thing to own
Than all of the wide impossible stars over the heavens blown,
And the little gifts her hand gives are careless given or taken,
And though the whole great world break, the heart of her is not shaken. ...
Love is a viol in the wind, a viol never stilled,
And mine of all is the surest that ever God has willed.
I shall speak to her though she goes before me into the grave,
And though I drown in the sea, herself shall come upon a wave.
And the things that love gives after shall be as they were before,
For life is only a small house ... and love is an open door.
THE LOST LOVE
Oh, where has my honey gone?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
O where have they laid her bones?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
Conjure woman shake her head,
Preacher dumb and master sad.
Nobody knows!
Nobody knows!
Why the tears that drop all night?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
Why the heart that burns like fire?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
Angel close the Book of Life,
Moon goes down and stars grow cold.
Nobody knows!
Nobody knows!
WHO IS THAT A-WALKING IN THE CORN ?
Who is that a-walking in the corn?
I have looked to East and looked to West
But nowhere could I find Him who walks
Master's cornfield in the morning.
Who is that a-walking in the corn?
Is it Joshua, the son of Nun? —
Or King David come to fight the giant
Near the cornfield in the morning?
Who is that a-walking in the corn?
Is it Peter jangling Heaven's keys? —
Or old Gabriel come to blow his horn
Near the cornfield in the morning?
Who is that a-walking in the corn?
I have looked to East and looked to West
But nowhere could I find Him who walks
Master's cornfield in the morning.
THE LONELY MOTHER
Oh, my mother's moaning by the river,
My poor mother's moaning by the river,
For her son who walks the earth in sorrow.
Long my mother's moaned beside the river,
And her tears have filled an angel's pitcher:
" Lord of Heaven, bring to me my honey,
Bring to me the darling of my bosom,
For a lonely mother by the river. "
Cease, O mother, moaning by the river;
Cease, good mother, moaning by the river.
I have seen the star of Michael shining,
Michael shining at the Gates of Morning.
Row, O mighty angel, down the twilight,
Row until I find a lonely woman,
Swaying long beneath a tree of cypress,
Swaying for her son who walks in sorrow.
Than all of the wide impossible stars over the heavens blown,
And the little gifts her hand gives are careless given or taken,
And though the whole great world break, the heart of her is not shaken. ...
Love is a viol in the wind, a viol never stilled,
And mine of all is the surest that ever God has willed.
I shall speak to her though she goes before me into the grave,
And though I drown in the sea, herself shall come upon a wave.
And the things that love gives after shall be as they were before,
For life is only a small house ... and love is an open door.
THE LOST LOVE
Oh, where has my honey gone?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
O where have they laid her bones?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
Conjure woman shake her head,
Preacher dumb and master sad.
Nobody knows!
Nobody knows!
Why the tears that drop all night?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
Why the heart that burns like fire?
Fly away, my Jubal, fly away!
Angel close the Book of Life,
Moon goes down and stars grow cold.
Nobody knows!
Nobody knows!
WHO IS THAT A-WALKING IN THE CORN ?
Who is that a-walking in the corn?
I have looked to East and looked to West
But nowhere could I find Him who walks
Master's cornfield in the morning.
Who is that a-walking in the corn?
Is it Joshua, the son of Nun? —
Or King David come to fight the giant
Near the cornfield in the morning?
Who is that a-walking in the corn?
Is it Peter jangling Heaven's keys? —
Or old Gabriel come to blow his horn
Near the cornfield in the morning?
Who is that a-walking in the corn?
I have looked to East and looked to West
But nowhere could I find Him who walks
Master's cornfield in the morning.
THE LONELY MOTHER
Oh, my mother's moaning by the river,
My poor mother's moaning by the river,
For her son who walks the earth in sorrow.
Long my mother's moaned beside the river,
And her tears have filled an angel's pitcher:
" Lord of Heaven, bring to me my honey,
Bring to me the darling of my bosom,
For a lonely mother by the river. "
Cease, O mother, moaning by the river;
Cease, good mother, moaning by the river.
I have seen the star of Michael shining,
Michael shining at the Gates of Morning.
Row, O mighty angel, down the twilight,
Row until I find a lonely woman,
Swaying long beneath a tree of cypress,
Swaying for her son who walks in sorrow.
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