Classic Poem

A P LANTATION C HANT

Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-fo',
Christ done open dat He'v'mly do' —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-five,
Christ done made dat dead man alive —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun —
Run home, dat sun done roll —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.

Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-six,
Christ is got us a place done fix —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-sev'm
Christ done sot a table in He'v'm —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun —
Run home, dat sun done roll —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.

Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-eight,
Christ done make dat crooked way straight —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-nine,
Christ done tu'n dat water inter wine —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun —
Run home, dat sun done roll —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.

Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-ten,
Christ is de mo'ner's onliest frien' —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer;
Hit's eighteen hunder'd forty-en-'lev'm,
Christ'll be at de do' w'en we all git ter He'v'm —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.
You ax me ter run home,
Little childun —
Run home, dat sun done roll —
An' I don't wanter stay yer no longer.