In the Spring, when nature cries for merriment...
No! No! My soul ain't your, Massa. Yo'might a bought my body but yo' don't own my soul.
– Look in those clouds. They look like gates of pearl – you can see beyond them – far far off – it's all gold. Please sing about spirits bright.
– I see a band of spirits bright,
That tasete the glories there.
They are all robed in spotless white,
And conquering palms they bear.
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