THE DEATH OF EVA.
And a soft light in her eye;
But her father's heart grows hopeless now,
For he knows that she must die.
Yet the thought is kind and the trust is true,
As she takes him by the hand,—
Dear father I will look for you
In the light of God's own land.
"Oh let them cut the long, long curls
That flow about my head,
And let our poor kind negroes come
For a moment round my bed.
"They have smoothed and stroked it many a day
In their kindly sport, and care,
And it may be they will think of me
When they see that curling hair."
The negroes loved her, young and old,
With a fond and deep regard,
For Eva's look was never sour,
And her words were never hard.
And her old nurse by the bedside stood,
Sore sobbing in her woe,
That so many sinners here should stay,
And the good and young should go.
"Dear nurse," said Eva, "I go home
To the happiest home of all;
Where never an evil thing will come,
And never a tear will fall.
"And I will hope each one to see,
That blessed home within;
Where Christ himself will set us free
From the bonds of death and sin."
Oh, swift and sad were the tears that fell,
As her gifts among them passed,
And Tom, he got the first fair curl,
And Topsy got the last.
But first and last alike were given,
With some words of love and prayer;
And it may be, hearts were helped to heaven,
By the links of that soft hair.
When Eva was dead and buried, Tom missed her sore, but he knew it was the will of God, and tried to comfort his master. Mr. St. Clair intended to set him free for Eva's sake. He was a kind man, but given to delay, and one day a wicked man stabbed him in a coffee-house, when he was trying to settle a quarrel. Mrs. St. Clair was a proud, hard-hearted woman, who cared for nobody but herself. She sold all the negroes, and Tom among them, to a cruel cotton planter, called Legree, and you shall see how he behaved.
LEGREE STRIKING TOM.
And his boys so blythe and black,
Are all working hard, in hopes to win
The dollars, to buy him back.
And George, who taught him long ago,
Has many a pleasant plan,
To pay his price, and set him free.
When he comes to be a man.
But little does that wicked man,
In his angry madness, know,
That God himself will take account
Of each cruel word and blow.
And children dear, who see him here,
At night and morning pray,
That you may never have aught like this
Laid up for the judgment day!
By the time all these things happened, George Shelby had grown up; but when he came to buy back Tom, the pious, kindly negro, had been so ill-treated by that cruel planter, because he tried to save the other slaves from his evil temper, that he lay dying in an old shed; and there was no law to punish the wicked planter, because Tom was black.
When George entered the shed where Tom lay, he felt his head giddy and his heart sick.
"Is it possible?" said he, kneeling down by him. "Uncle Tom, my poor, poor old friend!"
Something in the voice penetrated to the ear of the dying. He smiled, and said—
Feel soft as downy pillows are."
Tears fell from the young man's eyes as he bent over his poor friend.
"O, dear Uncle Tom! do wake—do speak once more! Look up. Here's Mas'r George—your own little Mas'r George. Don't you know me?"
"Mas'r George!" said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice—"Mas'r George!" He looked bewildered.
Slowly the idea seemed to fill his soul; and the vacant eye became fixed and brightened, the whole face lighted up, the hard hands clasped, and tears ran down the cheeks.
"Bless the Lord' it is—it is—it's all I wanted! They haven't forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my old heart good! Now I shall die content! Bless the Lord, O my soul!"
He began to draw his breath with long, deep aspirations; and his broad chest rose and fell heavily. The expression of his face was that of a conqueror.
"Who—who shall separate us from the love of Christ?" he said, in a voice that contended with mortal weakness; and with a smile he fell asleep.
Beyond the boundaries of the plantation George had noticed a dry, sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees; there they made a grave for poor Tom.
"Shall we take off the cloak, mas'r?" said the negroes, when the grave was ready.
"No, no; bury it with him. It's all I can give you now, poor Tom, and you shall have it."
They laid him in; and the men shovelled away silently. They banked it up, and laid green turf over it.
"You may go, boys," said George, slipping a quarter dollar into the hand of each. They lingered about, however.
"If young mas'r would please buy us," said one.
"We'd serve him so faithful!" said the other. "Do, mas'r, buy us, please!"
"I can't—I can't," said George, with difficulty, motioning them off; "it's impossible!"
The poor fellows looked dejected, and walked off in silence.
"Witness, eternal God," said George, kneeling on the grave of his poor friend—"O, witness that, from this hour, I will do what one man can to drive out this curse of slavery from my land!"
There is no monument to mark the last resting-place of poor Tom. He needs none. His Lord knows where he lies, and will raise him up immortal, to appear with Him when He shall appear in his glory.
LEGREE STRIKING TOM.In his angry madness, know,
That God himself will take account
Of each cruel word and blow.