Poems (Bell)/Old Uncle Bill

by Clara L. Bell

OLD UNCLE BILL.
Song.

Down in the South
 Stands the cabin lone and still,
No more we'll hear the voice
 Of old Uncle Bill,
Hanging on the wall
 Is his old hoe and spade
Last used by him
 When the tater-hill he made.

Chorus

Yes, the darkies gathered round.
As they heard the welcome sound,
And many was the good
Old dance they had,
But they won't dance any more
And their hearts with grief are sore,
And the songs they sing now are sad.

Far away upon the hill
 They have laid old Uncle Bill
In his grave, with trembling hands
 They placed his bow,
And the tears roll down the cheeks.
 Of the lonely dusky band
As they pass by the home
 He used to know.—Cho.

Old Uncle Bill
 We never can forget,
The echo of his songs
 Ring in the cabin yet;
Often at eve,
 When the sun was sinking low,
They'd meet to hear the music
 Drawn forth from his old bow.
—Cho.