A good old negro in the slums of the town [Sidenote: _Heavy bass. With a
literal imitation of camp-meeting racket, and trance._]
Preached at a sister for her velvet gown.
Howled at a brother for his low-down ways,
His prowling, guzzling, sneak-thief days.
Beat on the Bible till he wore it out,
Starting the jubilee revival shout.
And some had visions, as they stood on chairs,
And sang of Jacob, and the golden stairs.
And they all repented, a thousand strong,
From their stupor and savagery and sin and wrong
And slammed their hymn books till they shook the room
With “Glory, glory, glory,”
And “Boom, boom, BOOM.”
THEN I SAW THE CONGO, CREEPING THROUGH THE BLACK, [Sidenote: _Exactly as
in the first section._]
CUTTING THROUGH THE JUNGLE WITH A GOLDEN TRACK.
And the gray sky opened like a new-rent veil
And showed the apostles with their coats of mail.
In bright white steel they were seated round
And their fire-eyes watched where the Congo wound.
And the twelve apostles, from their thrones on high,
Thrilled all the forest with their heavenly cry:—
“Mumbo-Jumbo will die in the jungle; [Sidenote: _Sung to the tune of
“Hark, ten thousand harps and voices.”_]
Never again will he hoo-doo you,
Never again will he hoo-doo you.”
Then along that river, a thousand miles, [Sidenote: _With growing
deliberation and joy._]
The vine-snared trees fell down in files.
Pioneer angels cleared the way
For a Congo paradise, for babes at play,
For sacred capitals, for temples clean.
Gone were the skull-faced witch-men lean.
There, where the wild ghost-gods had wailed [Sidenote: _In a rather high
key—as delicately as possible._]
A million boats of the angels sailed
With oars of silver, and prows of blue
And silken pennants that the sun shone through.
’Twas a land transfigured, ’twas a new creation.
Oh, a singing wind swept the negro nation;
And on through the backwoods clearing flew:—
“Mumbo-Jumbo is dead in the jungle. [Sidenote: _To the tune of “Hark,
ten thousand harps and voices.”_]
Never again will he hoo-doo you.
Never again will he hoo-doo you.”
Redeemed were the forests, the beasts and the men,
And only the vulture dared again
By the far, lone mountains of the moon
To cry, in the silence, the Congo tune:—
“Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you. [Sidenote: _Dying off into a penetrating,
terrified whisper._]
Mumbo-Jumbo will hoo-doo you,
Mumbo ... Jumbo ... will ... hoo-doo ... you.”