If I ever get to glory,
And hope to make it through,
I expect to hear a story,
And hope you'll hear it, too.
It'll cover Maine to Texas,
And from Boston to Miami,
Of the highest shaft in glory,
Erected to the Negro Mammy.

You will see a lot of Washington,
And Washington again;
And good old Father Lincoln,
Towering above the rest of men;
But there will be a bunch of women
Standing hard up by the throne,
And they'll all be black and homely,
Unless the Virgin Mary's one.

They will be the talk of angels,
They will be the praise of men,
And the white folks would go crazy
Without their Mammy folks again:
If it's really true that meekness
Makes you heir to all the earth,
Then our blessed, good old Mammies
Must have been of noble birth.

If the greatest is the servant,
Then I've got to say of them,
They'll be standing next to Jesus,
Sub to no one else but Him;
If the crown goes to the faithful,
And the palm the victors wear,
They'll be loaded down with jewels
More than anybody there.

She'd the hardest road to travel
Ever mortal had to pull;
But she knelt down in her cabin
Till her cup of joy was full;
Though old Satan tried to shake her
From her knees with scowl and frown,
She just "climb up Jacob's ladder,"
And he never drug her down.

She'd just croon above the babies,
She'd just sing when things went wrong,
And no matter what the trouble,
She would meet it with a song;
She just prayed her way to heaven,
Finding comfort in the rod;
She just "stole away to Jesus,"
She just sung her way to God!

She "kept looking over Jordan,"
Kept "a-trustin' in the word,"
Kept a-lookin' for "the chariot,"
Kept "a-waitin' for the Lord,"
If she ever had a quiver
Of the shadow of a doubt,
It ain't never been discovered,
For she never sung it out;

But she trusted in the shadow,
And she trusted in the shine,
And she longed for one possession:
"That heaven to be mine";
And she prayed her children freedom,
But she won herself the best,
Peace on earth amidst her sorrows,
And up yonder heavenly rest!