e sebenfh
dippin', and I'se pore, so pore, de chile must go widout dis time.' No,
no, brudders, de bressed Lord He neber talk so. He neber break, 'case de
sebenfh dip am shet off, or 'case de price of turpentime gwo down at de
Norf. He neber sell his niggers down Souf, 'case he lose his money on de
hoss-race. No, my chil'ren, our HEABENLY Massa am rich, RICH, I say. He
own all dis worle, and all de odor worles dat am shinin' up dar in de
sky. He own dem all; but he tink more ob one ob you, more ob one ob
you--pore, ignorant brack folks dat you am--dan ob all dem great worles!
Who wouldn't belong, to sich a Massa as dat? Who wouldn't be his
nigger--not his slave--He don't hab no slaves--but his chile; and 'ef
his chile, den his heir, de heir ob God, and de joint heir wid Christ.'
O my chil'ren! tink of dat! de heir ob de Lord ob all de earth and all
de sky! What white man kin be more'n dat?

'Don't none ob you say you'm too wicked to be His chile; 'ca'se you
an't. He lubs de wicked ones de best, 'ca'se dey need his lub de most.
Yas, my brudders, eben de wickedest, ef dey's only sorry, and turn roun'
and leab off dar bad ways, he lub de bery best ob all, 'ca'se he'm all
lub and pity.

'Sam, har, my children, war wicked, but don't _we_ pity him; don't _we_
tink he had a hard time, and don't we tink de bad oberseer, who'm layin'
dar in de house jess ready to gwo and answer for it--don't we tink he
gabe Sam bery great probincation?'

'Dat's so,' said a dozen of the auditors.

'Den don't you 'spose dat de blessed Lord know all dat, and dat He pity
Sam too? If we pore sinners feel sorry for him, an't de Lord's heart
bigger'n our'n, and an't he more sorry for him? Don't you tink dat ef He
lub and pity de bery worse whites, dat He lub and pity pore Sam, who
warn't so bery bad, arter all? Don't you think He'll gib Sam a house?
P'r'aps 'twon't be one ob de fine hous'n, but won't it be a comfible
house, dat hain't no cracks, and one dat'll keep out de wind and de
rain? And don't you s'pose, my chil'ren, dat it'll be big 'nuff for
Jule, too--dat pore, repentin' chile, whose heart am clean broke, 'ca'se
she hab broughten dis on Sam--and won't de Lord--de good Lord--de
tender-hearted Lord--won't He touch Sam's heart, and coax him to forgib
Jule, and to take her inter his house up dar? I knows he will, my
chil'ren. I knows--'

Here the old negro paused abruptly; for there was a quick swaying in the
crowd--a hasty rush--a wild cry