I'M king of the road! I gather For the rich who ride my meat provide; I'm king of the road! Before me With a wild rose train from meadow and lane And the hail of a song-bird band. They are slaves who team by wagon or Go to sleep, my little pickaninny, - Mammy's gwine to swat yo' if you won't. Sh! sh! sh! Lu-la, lu-la lu-la lu-la lu! Underneaf de silver Southern moon; Dis hyar little Alabama Coon Specks to be a growed-up man some day; Dey's gwine to christen me byar very soon, My name's gwine to be "Henry Clay." When I's big, I's gwine to wed a yellow gal; Den we 'll hab pickaninnies ob our own; Den dat yellow gal shall rock 'em on her bosom, 1 See, also, p. 760. 'Possum fo' yo' breakfast when yo' sleepin' Mid wildering mazes of spinach and daisies, time is done, Sleep, Kentucky Babe! And Gretchen is holding it fast. HATTIE WHITNEY V "A SONG THAT OLD WAS SUNG" THE OLD SEXTON NIGH to a grave that was newly made, Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade; His work was done, and he paused to wait And his locks were white as the foamy sea; And these words came from his lips so thin: "I gather them in: I gather them in. "I gather them in ! for man and boy, |