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Browsing named entities in a specific section of Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore). Search the whole document.

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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