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Words by Mrs. R. S. Nichols; Arranged by William Cumming. Cincinnati: W. C. Peters & Sons, 1852. 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 |
They made him a grave in a hilloc of sand, Green trees over weeping him there; The holiest spot in that desolate land, Unblest, though it was, by a pray'r. No shaft of white marble with letters of gold, Looks up to the pitying skies; But green is the turf that lies over the mould, That hides UNCLE TOM from our eyes, That hides UNCLE TOM from our eyes. They made him a grave where the shadows were deep, And there, in the silence and gloom, They laid the calm brow of the weary to sleep, The stars watching over his tomb. No coffin, or shroud, in that rough-shapen mound, Enwraps the dark form of the dead; And only the winds stir the branches around, That guard UNCLE TOM'S lowly bed, That guard UNCLE TOM'S lowly bed. |