All My Trials - Harry Belafonte, Odetta

Hush little baby, don’t you cry

You know your mother was born to die

All my trials, Lord, soon be over

Too late my brothers, too late

But never mind

All my trials, Lord soon be over

The river of Jordan is muddy and cold

It chills the body but not the soul

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

Too late my brothers, too late

But never mind

All my trials, Lord soon be over

If living were a thing that money could buy

You know the rich would live

And the poor would die

All my trials Lord, soon be over

There grows a tree in Paradise

The pilgrims call it the tree of life

All my trials Lord, soon be over

Too late my brothers, too late

But never mind

All my trials, Lord soon be over