For Booth the soldier, while the throng knelt down.
He saw King Jesus. They were face to face,
And he knelt a-weeping in that holy place.
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Along de road from Bord à Plouffe
To Kaz-a-baz-u-a
W'ere poplar trees lak sojers stan',
An' all de lan' is pleasan' lan',
In off de road dere leev's a man
Call' Louis Desjardins.
An' Louis, w'en he firse begin
To work hees leetle place,
He work so hard de neighbors say,
"Unless he tak's de easy way
Dat feller's sure to die some day,
We see it on hees face."
'T was lak a swamp, de farm he got,
De water ev'ryw'ere-
Might drain her off as tight as a drum.
An' back dat water is boun' to come
In less 'n a day or two-ba Gum!
'T would mak' de angel swear.
So Louis t'ink of de bimeby,
If he leev so long as dat,
W'en he's ole an' blin' an' mebbe deaf,
From the Poetical Works of William Henry Drummond. Courtesy of G. P. Putnam's Sons, Publishers, New York and London.
All alone on de house hese'f,
No frien', no money, no not'ing lef',
An' poor-can't kip a cat.
So wan of de night on winter tam,
W'en Louis is on hees bed,
He say out loud lak a crazy man,
"I'm sick of tryin' to clear dis lan',
Work any harder I can't stan',
Or it will kill me dead.
"Now if de devil would show hese'f
An' say to me, 'Tiens! Louis!
Hard tam an' work she's at an' en',
You'll leev' lak a Grand Seigneur, ma frien',
If only you'll be ready w'en
I want you to come wit' me,'
"I'd say, 'Yass, yass-'maudit! w'at's dat?"
An' he see de devil dere—
Brimstone, ev'ryt'ing bad dat smell,
You know right away he's come from-well,
De place I never was care to tell—
An' wearin' hees long black hair,
Lak election man, de kin' I mean
You see arcun' church door,
Spreadin' hese 'f on great beeg speech
'Bout poor man's goin' some day be reech,
But dat's w'ere it alway come de heetch,
For poor man's alway poor.
De only diff'rence-me-I see
"Tween devil an' long-hair man
It's hard to say, but I know it's true,
W'en devil promise a t'ing to do
Dere's no mistak' he kip it too—
I hope you understan'.
So de devil spik, "You're not content,
An' want to be reech, Louis-
All right, you'll have plaintee, never fear
No wan can beat you far an' near,
An' I'll leave you alone for t'orty year,
An' den you will come wit' me.
"Be careful now-it's beeg contrac',
So mebbe it's bes' go slow:
For me de promise I mak' to you
Is good as de bank Rivière du Loup;
For you-w'enever de tam is due,
Ba tonder! you got to go."
Louis try hard to tak' hees tam
But w'en he see de fall
Comin' along in a week or so,
All aroun' heem de rain an' snow
An' pork on de bar'l runnin' low,
He don't feel good at all.
An' w'en he t'ink of de swampy farm
An' gettin' up winter night,
Watchin' de stove if de win' get higher
For fear de chimley go on fire,
It's makin' poor Louis feel so tire
He tell de devil, "All right.”
"Correct," dat feller say right away,
An' out of de winder he's goin' pouf! Beeg nose, long hair, short tail, an' hoof Off on de road to Bord à Plouffe
Crossin' de reever dere.
W'en Louis get up nex' day, ma frien',
Dere's lot of devil sign-
Bar'l o' pork an' keg o' rye,
Bag o' potato ten foot high,
Pile o' wood nearly touch de sky,
Was some o' de t'ing he fin'.
Suit o' clothes would have cos' a lot
An' ev'ryt'ing I dunno,
Trotter horse w'en he want to ride
Eatin' away on de barn outside,
Stan' all day if he's never tied,
An' watch an' chain also.
An' swamp dat's bodder heem many tam, W'ere is dat swamp to-day?
Don't care if you're huntin' up an' down You won't fin' not 'ing but medder groun', An' affer de summer come aroun'
W'ere can you see such hay?
Wall! de year go by, an' Louis leev'
Widout no work to do,
Rise w'en he lak on winter day,
Fin' all de snow is clear away,
No fuss, no not 'ing, dere's de sleigh
An' trotter waitin' too.
W'en t'orty year is nearly t'roo
An' devil's not come back
'Course Louis say, "Wall! he forget
Or t'ink de tam's not finish yet;
I'll tak' ma chance an' never fret,"
But dat's w'ere he mak' mistak'.
For on a dark an' stormy night
W'en Louis is sittin' dere,
Affer he fassen up de door
De devil come as he come before,
Lookin' de sam' only leetle more,
For takin' heem-you know w'ere.
"Asseyez vous, sit down, ma frien',
Bad night be on de road;
You come long way an' should be tire-
Jus' wait an' mebbe I feex de fire-
Tak' off your clothes for mak' dem drier,
Dey mus' be heavy load."
Dat's how poor Louis Desjardins
Talk to de devil, sir-
Den say, "Try leetle w'isky blanc,
Dey're makin' it back on St. Laurent-
It's good for night dat's cole an' raw,"
But devil never stir,
Until he smell de smell dat come
W'en Louis mak' it hot
Wit' sugar, spice, an' ev'ryt'ing,
Enough to mak' a man's head sing-
For winter, summer, fall an' spring-
It's very bes' t'ing we got.
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