J's 'bout d'hk I com' hom' ploddin',
Tired and ro'sted from de sun.
Tho' I wo'k f'om mo'nin' early,
Seems m' tas' ez never don';
Th'n its wh'n I sit er scowlin',
Dinah smoothes m' brow 'n' sa',
Ephr'm yo's bro't nothin' wit' you',
Chil' you' can't t'ke nothin' wa';
An' she re'ch's me m' banjo,
An' I lay it cross my bres',
Fo' my trouble's all forgotten
An' my soul's at res'.
Soon de spring com' on a smilin'
I 'gin frettin' 'bout de grain,
Fo' my little gard'n parchin'
An' my crop ez needin' rain;
Th'n its wh'n I sit a scowlin',
Dinah smoothes m' brow 'n' say',
Ephr'm you's bro't nothin' wit' you',
C'hile, yo' can't t'ke not'in wa';
An' she re'ch's me m' banjo,
An' I lay it cross m' breast,
Fo' my trouble's all forgotten,
An' my soul's at rest
Som' des days 't'll all be over,
I will la me down an' sleep,
Dinah, honey, don't yo' worry,
Tell de people not to weep.
Th'n its w'en I lay a sleepin',
Smooth my bro' as ol' an' sa',
Ephr'm, honey, I will meet yo',
'Round de throne o' God som' da';
T'ke my banjo f'om de ceilin',
La' it sof'ly 'cross my bres',
Fo' my troubles will be over,
An' my soul at rest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem