"Nobody knows the trouble I see, Lord,
Nobody knows but Jesus."

These slave songs, born of agony, might well be called "The Passion
Flowers" of the slave cabin. Thank God that all of my sisters were not
thus brutalized, and even to those who were, God was merciful. Deep down
underneath the lacerated and bruised heart, rested the "Shekinah of the
Lord," preventing the wholesale transmission of vice. Two hundred and
fifty years of such tuition gave her but little chance to develop her
womanhood.

Intuitively she knew that there was a living God, and she sought Him in
visions, and listened for His voice, and looked forward and persevered
for that home not made with hands, and from her heart were wrung these
words:

"O Lord, O my Lord, O my good Lord,
Keep me from sinking down."

And then comforted, she cried out triumphantly--

"Didn't my Lord deliver Daniel,
Then why not every man?"

Many have told me their struggles, and I know of others who even suffered
death rather than submit to the outrage of chastity. One poor mother with
three beautiful baby girls, driven to despair by realizing their probable
doom if allowed to live, sent them back to the God who gave them and then
took her own life.