Days Of Slavery
I remember that day in the Deep South
My father had to set all his slaves free
Tears were in his eyes letting them go
The Yankees had claimed their victory.
Daddy had over three hundred slaves
Not once did he ever come to mistreat
During the nights, I remember screams
From slaves who my dad’s friend beat.
One day I sneaked into our southern town
And silently listened to the busy auctioneer
He was selling many slaves for thousands,
Dividing African families whom arrived here.
That same night I sat down in my daddy’s lap
And I questioned him about what I had seen
“Pumpkin,” he answered giving me a tight hug,
“Some people aren’t nice, but downright mean.”
I asked why he treated his slaves so wonderfully
Softly he answered God wanted it to be that way
This lead to many more questions from myself
Until I began to understand what he had to say.
My father was a Christian man with strong beliefs
And there are still memories I cherish of that man
I was his baby daughter, the youngest of fourteen
I can see Dad’s heart of gold in my sister Joanne.
During the Civil War, I was only seven years young
And the slave’s screams still echo loudly in my mind
Every night when I pray a prayer of thanks to Jesus
I think of my father, a slave owner, but ever so kind.
