Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/585

 Ez fer war, I call it murder,— There you hev it plain an' flat; I don't want to go no furder Than my Testyment fer that; God hez sed so plump an' fairly, It's ez long ez it is broad, An' you've got to git up airly Ef you want to take in God.

'Tain't your eppyletts an' feathers Make the thing a grain more right; 'Tain't afollerin' your bell-wethers Will excuse ye in His sight; Ef you take a sword an' dror it, An' go stick a feller thru, Guv'mint ain't to answer for it, God'll send the bill to you.

Wut's the use o' meetin'-goin' Every Sabbath, wet or dry, Ef it's right to go amowin' Feller-men like oats an' rye? I dunno but wut it's pooty Trainin' round in bobtail coats,— But it's curus Christian dooty This 'ere cuttin' folks's throats

Tell ye jest the eend I've come to Arter cipherin' plaguey smart, An' it makes a handy sum, tu, Any gump could larn by heart; Laborin' man an' laborin' woman Hev one glory an' one shame. Ev'y thin' thet's done inhuman Injers all on 'em the same.