---

Paul Laurence Dunbar - Deacon Jones` Grievance
Work rating: Low

I`VE been watchin` of `em parson,
An` I`m sorry fur to say
`At my mind is not contented
With the loose an` keerless way
`At the young folks treat the music;
`Tain`t the proper sort o` choir.
Then I don`t believe in Christuns
A-singin` hymns for hire.
But I never would `a` murmured
An` the matter might `a` gone
Ef it wasn`t fur the antics
`At I`ve seen `em kerry on;
So I thought it was my dooty
Fur to come to you an` ask
Ef you wouldn`t sort o` gently
Take them singin` folks to task.
Fust, the music they`re be`n singin`
Will disgrace us mighty soon;
It`s a cross between a opry
An` a ol` cotillion tune.
With its dashes an` its quavers
An` its hifalutin style —
Why, it sets my head to swimmin`
When I`m comin` down the aisle.
Now it might be almost decent
Ef it wasn`t fur the way
`At they git up there an` sing it,
Hey dum diddle, loud and gay. 
Why, it shames the name o` sacred
In its brazen worldliness,
An` they`re even got "Ol` Hundred"
In a bold, new-fangled dress.
You`ll excuse me, Mr. Parson,
Ef I seem a little sore;
But I`ve sung the songs of Isr`el
For threescore years an` more,
An ` it sort o` hurts my feelin`s
Fur to see `em put away
Fur these harum-scarum ditties
`At is capturin` the day.
There`s anuther little happ`nin`
`At I`ll mention while I`m here,
Jes` to show `at my objections
All is offered sound and clear.
It was one day they was singin`
An` was doin` well enough —
Singin` good as people could sing
Sich an awful mess o` stuff —
When the choir give a holler,
An` the organ give a groan,
An` they left one weak-voiced feller
A-singin` there alone!
But he stuck right to the music,
Tho` `t was tryin` as could be;
An` when I tried to help him,
Why, the hull church scowled at me.
You say that`s so-low singin`,
Well, I pray the Lord that I
Growed up when folks was willin`
To sing their hymns so high.
Why, we never had sich doin`s
In the good ol` Bethel days,
When the folks was all contented
With the simple songs of praise.
Now I may have spoke too open,
But `t was too hard to keep still,
An` I hope you`ll tell the singers
`At I bear `em no ill-will. 
`At they all may git to glory
Is my wish an` my desire,
But they`ll need some extry trainin`
`Fore they jine the heavenly choir.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.