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The Christian Slave
Harriet Beecher Stowe
Boston: Phillips, Sampson, 1855

SCENE XIV.—A Hut. -- UNCLE TOM lying on straw, apparently dead.

Enter GEORGE SHELBY. Kneels down.

George.

  Is it possible! Is it possible! Uncle Tom, my poor old friend!


Uncle Tom. [Moving in his sleep.]
"Jesus can make a dying bed
Feel soft as downy pillows are."

George.

  O! Uncle Tom, do wake! do speak once more! Look up! Here's Mas'r George—your own little Mas'r George! Don't you know me?


Uncle T. [In a feeble voice.]

  Mas'r George! Mas'r George! Bless the Lord! it is—it is—it 's all I wanted! They have n't forgot me! It warms my soul; it does my old heart good! Now I shall die content! Bless the Lord, O my soul!


George.

  You shan't die! you must n't die, nor think of it! I 've come to buy you, and take you home.


Uncle T.

  O, Mas'r George, ye 're too late! The Lord's bought me, and is going to take me home; and I long to go. Heaven is better than Kintuck.


George.

  O, don't die! It 'll kill me! it 'll break my heart to think what you 've suffered—and lying in this old shed, here! Poor, poor fellow!


Uncle T.

  Don't call me a poor fellow! [Solemnly.] I have been poor fellow, but that 's all past and gone now. I 'm right in the door, going into glory! O, Mas'r George! Heaven has come! I 've got the victory! the Lord Jesus has given it to me! Glory be to his name! [He pauses, and then takes GEORGE'S hand.] Ye must n't, now, tell Chloe—poor soul!—how ye found me; 't would be so drefful to her. Only tell her ye found me going into glory; and that I could n't stay for no one. And tell her the Lord stood by me everywhere, and al'ays, and made everything light and easy. And, O! the poor chil'en, and the baby—my old heart's been most broken for 'em, time and again. Tell 'em all to follow me—follow me! Give my love to mas'r, and dear good missis, and everybody in the place! Ye don't know. 'Pears like I love 'em all! I loves every creatur', everywar!—it 's nothing but love! O, Mas'r George, what a thing 't is to be a Christian!

[LEGREE looks in.]

George.

  The old Satan! It 's a comfort to think the devil will pay him for this some of these days!


Uncle T.

  O, don't!—O, you must n't! [grasping his hand] He 's a poor mis'able critter. It 's awful to think on 't. O, if he


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only would repent, the Lord would forgive him now; but I 'm feared he never will!


George.

  I hope he won't. I never want to see him in heaven!


Uncle T.

  Hush, Mas'r George; it worries me! Don't feel so. He an't done me no real harm—only opened the gate of the kingdom for me—that 's all! [A pause. UNCLE TOM seems to faint. Draws several long sighs, raises his hand.] Who—who—who—shall—separate—us from—the—the—love of Christ? LOVE! LOVE! LOVE OF CHRIST!