Here you will find the Poem Church Building of poet Frances Ellen Watkins
Uncle Jacob often told us, Since freedom blessed our race We ought all to come together And build a meeting place. So we pinched, and scraped, and spared, A little here and there: Though our wages was but scanty, The church did get a share. And, when the house was finished, Uncle Jacob came to pray; He was looking mighty feeble, And his head was awful gray. But his voice rang like a trumpet; His eyes looked bright and young; And it seemed a mighty power Was resting on his tongue. And he gave us all his blessing - 'Twas parting words he said, For soon we got the message The dear old man was dead. But I believe he's in the kingdom, For when we shook his hand He said, 'Children, you must meet me Right in the promised land; 'For when I done a moiling And toiling here below, Through the gate into the city Straightway I hope to go.'