ALL MY TRIALS

Hush, little baby, don't you cry;
You know your mama was born to die;
All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

I've got a little book with pages three;
And every page spells liberty;
All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

There grows a tree in paradise;
And the pilgrims call it The Tree of Life;
All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

River Jordan is muddy and cold;
Well, it chills the body but not the soul;
All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

If livin' was a thing that money could buy;
Then the rich would live and the poor would die;
All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

Too late, my brothers;
Too late, but never mind;
All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

All my trials, Lord, soon be over.