Nicodemus, the slave was of African birth, <br />And was bought for a bagful of gold; <br />He was reckon'd as part of the salt of the earth, <br />But he died years ago, very old. <br />'Twas his last sad request as we laid him away <br />In the trunk of an old hollow tree; <br />"Wake me up!" was his charge, "at the first break of day -- <br />Wake me up for the great Jubilee!" <br /> <br />The "Good Time Coming" is almost here! <br />It was long, long, long on the way! <br />Now run and tell Elijah to hurry up Pump, <br />And meet me at the gumtree in the swamp <br />To wake Nicodemus today. <br /> <br />He was known as a prophet -- at least was as wise -- <br />For he told of the battles to come; <br />And we trembled with dread when he roll'd up his eyes, <br />And we heeded the shake of his thumb. <br />Though he clothed us with fear, yet the garments he wore <br />Were in patches at elbow and knees; <br />And he still wears the suit that he used to of yore, <br />As he sleeps in the old hollow tree. <br /> <br />Nicodemus was never the sport of the lash, <br />Though the bullet has oft cross'd his path; <br />There were none of his masters so brave or so rash <br />As to face such a man in his wrath. <br />Yet his great heart with kindness was filled to the brim -- <br />He obeyed who was born to command; <br />But he long'd for the morning which then was so dim -- <br />For the morning which now is at hand. <br /> <br />'Twas a long weary night -- we were almost in fear <br />That the future was more than he knew; <br />'Twas a long weary night -- but the morning is near, <br />And the words of our prophet are true. <br />There are signs in the sky that the darkness is gone -- <br />There are tokens in endless array; <br />While the storm which had seemingly banished the dawn, <br />Only hastens the advent of day.<br /><br />Henry Clay Work<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wake-nicodemus/
