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216 AMERICAN BALLADS AND SONGS
THE PREACHER'S LEGACY
O, if poor sinners did but know
How much for them I undergo,
They would not treat me with contempt,
Nor curse me when I say "Repent."
Give credit now to what I say,
And mind it till the judgment day,
Of God I'm sent, to you I call,
The invitation is to all.
My loving brethren think it strange That I should leave my dearest friends; My sisters wonder where I am, That I do not return to them. My parents' house I bid adieu, And on my journey I pursue, To distant climes I now repair To call poor sinners far and near.
Through storms of wind and rain and snow Both day and night I have to go To attend the appointments I have made, Or find some place to lay my head. Sometimes in open houses sleep Or in some little place I creep, I cannot sleep for want of clothes, Smothered in smoke and almost froze.