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“Sistus, brers an’ little chillun, recommember! Dat’s de qualificashun, an’ don’ fogit it. Po’ Lot’s wife, she fogot, looked back, an wuz turnt inter uh pillow ub salt.

“Fogitfulness is wuss’n playin’ de fiddle, dancin’, an’ uh cuss’n one nerr. Hits almos’ ez bad ez fishin’ on de Sabbuth day. Y-a-s, Lawd, fogitfulness is bin uh ’stressin’ people ev’y sense Adam clum de apple tree an’ eat dem apples. Ab-so-lum fogot his Pa’s ’structions, er he wudn’ er rid un’er dat oak tree an’ let dat lim’ twiss his neck ef’n he hadn’ bin frolikin’, I specks, wid dat ornry King Fario. Y-a-s, Lawd, tech us ter recommember. De prodigal son fogot he Pa’s ways, an’ you know de consequation. Sted ub fogittin’, meck us ter recommember; y-a-s, Lawd, meck us ter recommember dat de debbil is uh rovin’ lion, seekin’ who he may eat up.^[5] Don’ let us be like Jacob, de Petrack, who fogot hissef an’ tried ter rassel wid uh angel, an’ de fus’ fall he got his leg wuz flung outin jint.

“But da is one thing dat you kin fogit; hits dem shirks [sharks] in Miles Ribber. Some ub our sistus is got de shirk fright so bad dey is persidderin jinin’ de Presbyters. Sweet sistus, don’ yer do hit. Ev’y man’s mouf ain’ uh prayerbook, an’ uh case orntried is hyard ter justify. Persidder us, deah Lawd, burhol us, be wid us, cum down right now in de spirit ub de lam’; cum right th’oo de roof, Ole Mars will pay fuh de shingles. Dese moners is uh waitin’ fuh you. Y-a-s, indeed, cum down dis minit an’ cur-tail de work ub de debbil.”