The Muskogee cimeter. [volume] (Muskogee, Indian Territory, Okla.) 1901-19??, 1906-04-26
81 know not, Oh, know not
What joys await us there,
What radiancx of xlnrv
W nat radianCy OF glory,
WA, t,t.... ls..-.a .....,..

Tell me-about it-Uncle Bob"
gasped the weak little voice, as the last
strain died away-"Jerusalem the
Golden"
Uncle Bob leaned eagerly forward, all
traces of tears carefully wiped away,
that no selfish display of grief disturb
the serenity OF the departing soul.
'Leetle Moss" he whispered in his
broken, quavering voice, "dar whar you
gwine. de streets is gol'en, an de flow
ers is bloomin', an de libin' waters ~
flowin' froo de green fiel's oh Pah disc!
Oh! leetle Moss, you an me--po' ole Unc'
Bob-hab talk heap bout dat happy
Ian, but Unc' Bob ain neber spec dat
you gwine go haid oh him ter de sweet
an blessed country"
Flowers" murmured the little one,
drowsily, gold flowers. Will there
be any, roses-like Lucy's?"
LEX Miss Lucy's!" in tender assur-
ance. Leetle Moss, der flow'rs up in
Pah disc. des es much puttier'n Miss
Lucy's es day is dan night! Ain dey,
Miss Lucy?"
Eyes, yes, Uncle Bob. Oh, tell him
yes!" wept the girl.
An dey des de putties' streets you
eber Is see, an you gwine meet all de
folks done gone befo', honey. An tell
em Unc' Bob gwine be long soon!
Soon!" in an ecstasy OF longing.
A smile OF surprising beauty, and
full Of the tenderness of heavenly
assurance. lit up the little pallid face.
Sing, Uncle Bob" he said, in all
the simplicity of his babyhood, when
the melody of that tremulous old voice
was the sound that nightly rocked his
soul to sleep
"Yas, leetle Moss. Unc' Bob gwine
sing" clearing his throat and putting
forth every effort of his bursting heart.
On the quivering air there fell the
strains Of a voice, DID, cracked, worn.
strained with the terrible strain of the
coming wrench, yet sweet with all the
memories of his little life, to the dying
boy:
81 want ter be er an-guI
An wild de an-guls stan,
Err crown ah-pawn my foh -haid.
An er harp widin my hand -
What dat you sayin', leetle Moss"
bending down low over the parting
lips.
"Is gwine be er white angul'? Oh,
Gawd hab mussy!"-wringing his
hands in indescribable agony-"What
gwine say? Glib me de right wohds
to use. Marse Jesus! Leetle Moss!
gwine be er black angul!-er jet black
soul! So dat you des boun reco'nize
Unc' Bob de minute you set eyes on
him-dat de truf, Lawd!" raising
streaming eyes of supreme renuncia-
ton to heaven.
Uncle Bob" and the little voice was
weak and far away-"When-I get
home-Ill-ask Jesus-to let me meet
you-at the door-and give you-your
white robe myself-and we will go-to-
gether-and have-your soul-washed
white-Uncle Bob"
"Oh. praise Gawd! Praise Gawd,
My leetle Moss, my leetle Moss! My
leetle white soul angul!"
Now ! lay me"-("down ter sleep"
walled poor Uncle Bob)-"I pray the
Lord"-over the damp and pallid little
face Pickering lights are passing, and
the indescribable majesty of the seal
of death Is already on the marble brow
my soul-to keep" ooh, leetle Moss.
leetle Moss!)-"If I--should-die.-be-
fore-I-wake--"
And in the silence little white soul
slipped away to the shelter of the
heavenly nest.
None to Sell.
De Madden--What about that gold