SOME one gives an account of a religious service which he witnessed in a contraband camp, and a sketch of the discourse, which, though broken and quaint, truthfully illustrates the great moral of the awful war which is raging in our country : it is God's judgment on this nation for the sin of oppression. The introduction of religious exercises was by singing. Some one of the crowd, with a clear sweet voice, led off, with, “Come dou fount ob ebery bressin,
Tune my heart to sing dy praise.” Soon the dear old tune and its hallowed associations touched the heart, and then the words, “Teach me some melodious sonnet
Sung by flaming tongues above,” were carried by a volume of melody—on the night air, with too much soul and fervor to allow a thought about negro pronunciation. At the close of the hymn, Old Jack moved to a slight rise of ground from which he could be seen by those around, and commenced his sermon. His text was, “Whar de chillum of Izzul was tryin to leab de lan of Egyp, when de hole lan was dark, so dark dat you could take hold ob it, an feel un like de black clof on de coffin, but de chillum of Izzul had light in dar dwellin.” The whole sermon was delivered, not in the oratorical style of his people, but in the genial, kindly way he talked, as though “he opened his mouth and taught them, saying:” “In de fus place,” the negroes, slaves, were like the children of Israel in Egypt under hard taskmasters.—Moses was their deliverer. Abraham Lincoln the deliverer of the slaves. Naming the plagues in their order, as recorded, he with much ingenuity found a counterpart in some woe that had fallen upon the country, or that he had heard had afflicted the people from time to time. “And now,” said he, joining two of the plagues, “dare is just upon dis berry time, de dear dead body of de fus-born (or wusser yet,) ob de fader an husban, cold an bloody in ebery house in de lan ; and all is dark in de hold ’Nited States, so dat nobody can se de fus sign of a track in de woods. Nobody can tell who he run against, it is so dark ; or how to git back home again, it is so dark ; he can do noffin but stan still and feel it, but the chillum of Izzel hab light in de dwellin. Ebery cullered man, ebery slave got his eye on de light, it talks to him, it sing to him, it do his work for him, it play wid the chillen. De slave got de light in de ’quarters’. While he look at it, he know it neber will go out. No, neber ! tank de Lord ! and it warm him, it feed him, it tell him, ’Nebber mind the dark long night, I’se gwi’ne to last till morning.’”