My Soul’s At Rest Poem by James Ephraim McGirt

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.