ee me now, He know me here.
He say, poor Indian, neber fear,
Me wid you night and day.

So me lub God wid inside heart;
He fight for me, He take my part,
He save my life before.
God lub poor Indian in de wood;
So me lub God, and dat be good;
Me pray Him two times more.

When me be old, me head be gray,
Den He no lebe me, so He say:
Me wid you till you die.
Den take me up to shinee place,
See white man, red man, black man's face,
All happy 'like on high.

Few days, den God will come to me,
He knock off chains, He set me free,
Den take me up on high.
Den Indian sing His praises blest,
And lub and praise Him wid de rest,
And neber, neber cry.

The above hymn, which may be found in different forms in old New England
tracts and hymn-books, and which used to be sung in Methodist conference
and prayer-meetings in the same way that old slave-hymns and the
"Jubilee Singers" refrains are sometimes sung now, was composed by
William Apes, a converted Indian, who was born in Massachusetts, in
1798. His father was a white man, but married an Indian descended from
the family of King Philip, the Indian warrior, and the last of the
Indian chiefs. His grandmother was the king's granddaughter, as he
claimed, and was famous for her personal beauty. He caused his
autobiography and religious experience to be published. The original
hymn is quite long, and contains some singular and characteristic
expressions.

The authorship of the tune to which the words were sung has been claimed
for Samuel Cowdell, a schoolmaster of Annapolis Valley, Nova Scotia,
1820, but the date of the lost tune was probably much earlier.

In the early days of New England, before the Indian missions had been
brought to an end by the sweeping away of the tribes, several fine hymns
were composed by educated Indians, and were used in the churches. The
best known is that beginning--

When shall we all meet again?

It was composed by three Indians at the planting of a memorial pine on
leaving Dartmouth College, where they had been studying. The lines
indicate an expectation of missionary life and work.

When shall we all meet again?
When shall we all meet again?
Oft shall glowing hope expire,
Oft shall wearied love retire,
Oft shall death and sorrow reign
Ere we all shall meet again.

Though in distant lands we sigh,
Parch