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BLUE GRASS BALLADS
'Tis a whir and a hum,
And a doleful thrum, But music my heart can feel—
I hear as before,
In days of yore, Black mammy's spinning wheel.
It brings me joy, as when a boy
I sat in her cabin door, And heard her sing to the spindle's ring, As she paced the " puncheon " floor;
From the dawn to the gloam,
In the old South home, A mammy true, black and leal,
She trudged to and fro,
In the long ago, And wrought at her spinning wheel.
How blest the days, how sweet the ways,
That Kate and I saw then— My sister Kate, whom God and fate, Have taken to His Aidenn.
Now 'neath the orange trees,
Kissed by each balmy breeze, That thro' magnolias steal,
Under the bloom
Lies Katie's tomb, And still's the spinning wheel.