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New York: Firth, Pond & Co., 1853. [As Sung By Christy's Minstrels At Christy's Opera House N.Y.] BROWN UNIVERSITY LIBRARY THE MUSIC FOR THIS SONG IS AVAILABLE AT BROWN'S AFRICAN-AMERICAN SHEET MUSIC 1850-1920 -- AN EXHIBIT AT THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS' AMERICAN MEMORY ARCHIVE |
Uncle Tom's gone to rest! let us pray for his soul, He will answer no more to the call of the roll; When the horn wakes us up, to the fields we repair With a sigh for poor Tom, who is now past all care. We shall miss his kind hand, when the sickness comes on, In the winter's long ev'nings we'll think of his song, His children are weeping, Aunt Chloe, heart sore, Can but pray that he's gone where his troubles are o'er. CHORUS. Uncle Tom's gone to rest! let us pray for his soul, He will answer no more to the call of the roll, When the horn wakes us up to the fields we repair With a sigh for poor Tom, who is now past all care. When he went down the river, he thought of us then, And he fondly believed he should meet us again, For he met there a spirit so pure and so bright, He thought her, and found her an angel of light. But sorrows dark pathway he liv'd still to trace For sweet Eva died in whose lovely face He saw hope and comfort, both here and above, What else could she be whose existence was love? Tom's joy turned to sorrow, now see him once more, In the pestilent swamp his hard fate to deplore, Still patient and humble, and willing to lend His best efforts to her, whom stern fate made his friend. But his days are now numbered, poor Chloe's hard gains Will never avail him, his perils and pains Drawing now to their close; the good book his sole cheer, They may die in good hope who can die like Tom, here. |