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.