Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore). You can also browse the collection for De Lord or search for De Lord in all documents.

Your search returned 8 results in 3 document sections:

One of the Beaufort (S. C.) negroes advertised his runaway master in the following clever travestie: $500 reward.--Rund away from me on de 7th ob dis month, my massa Julan Rhett. Massa Rhett am five feet leven inches high, big shoulders, brack har, curly shaggy whiskers, low forehead, an' dark face. He make big fuss when he go 'mong de gemmen, he talk ver big, and use de name ob de Lord all de time. Calls heself Suddern gemmen, but I suppose will try now to pass heself off as a brack man or mulatter. Massa Rhett has a deep scar on his shoulder from a fight, scratch cross de left eye, made by my Dinah when he tried to whip her. He neber look peple in de face. I more dan spec he will make track for Bergen kounty, in de furrin land ob Jarsey, whar I magin he hab a few friends. I will gib four hundred dollars for him if alive, an' five hundred if anybody show him dead. If he cum back to his kind niggers widout much truble, dis chile will receive him lubingly. Sambo Rhett.
83. December in Virginia. contraband, loquitur. De leaves hab blown away, De trees am black and bare; De day am cold an damp, De rain am in de air. De wailing win's hab struck De strings ob Nature's lyre; De brooks am swollen deep, De roads am mud an mire. De horses yank de team, De wheels am stickin thar; De Yankee massa yell-- De Lord! how he do swar! De oafs dat he do take, De nigger disremember; De Dutch, De Deuce, De Debbil, De — all tings dat am ebil-- de-Cember
94. [song of the negro Boatmen.] 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 heapDe Lord, dat heap de Red Sea waves, He jus' as ‘trong as den; He say de word — we las' night slaves, To-day de Lord's freemen. De yam will grow, de cotton blow, We'll hab de rice an‘de Lord's freemen. 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! Ole massa on he trabbles gone; He leab de land behind; De Lord's breff blow him furder on, LiDe Lord's breff blow him furder on, Like corn-shuck 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. De yam will grow, de cotcorn; Oh, nebber you fear, if nebber you hear De driver blow his horn! We pray de Lord; he gib us signs Dat some day we be free; De Norf-wind tell it to de pines, Der 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‘ throw away de key; He tink we lu