THE PERRY BELL SONG

Oh! Come all you good people, And listen while I tell
The story of a young man, His name was Perry Bell.
Also that of a sheriff, His name you all know well,
Just how they made their acquaintance, Is very sad to tell.

The sheriff was dark and handsome, Young Bell was fair and gay, [in those days, 'gay' meant 'happy']
His home was up in Georgia, Not many miles away.
But on this summer morning, When he was leaving home,
But little did he think then, That he'd be gone so long.

But on this fatal evening, The sun was going down;
The sheriff had a summons, To go out north of town.
He reached his destination, He made his business known;
He says, you are my prisoner And the jail house is your home.

And so he met this stranger, out near the Strickland farm;
He says, why do you want me, I've surely done no harm.
The sheriff was in a hurry, With Bell he wouldn't agree;
And in another moment, had shot him to the knees.

And as young Bell was rising, He drew his German gun;
And what was done that instant, Can never be undone.
He killed the Ozark sheriff, This fatal summer night;
They would not heed his pleadings, To do just what was right.
And so this tragedy happened, Out on the Asbury Road;
He was a stranger, didn't know Just where to make his abode.
He crawled out to a farmhouse, and fell across the bed;
I am severely wounded, Please bathe my aching head.

The officers they arrived soon, and carried him off to jail;
For 15 months he stayed there without a chance for bail.
The sheriff, he was buried beneath the churchyard sod;
Their chimes went on before them Up to the throne of God.

The doctor made his visits, Around the county jail;
He found him wounded, bleeding, Without a chance for bail.
He dressed his wounds carefully, for he was very mild;
How well did he remember, ‘Twas some dear mother's child.

They had their jury paneled, To them they did proclaim;
Some of them says, We'll punish him, Some says, It is a shame.
And so this noble jury, They never could agree;
To give this man his freedom, 'Twas malice you can see.

All sheriffs all take warning, From Early McGowen's fate;
And if you're ever called out, be sure to hesitate.
But never shirk your duty, for this is your right you know;
But heed the cries of conscience, before you start to go.

You'll find my noble lawyers, in the precious Book of Truth;
The Savior did not win souls, with slander nor rebuke.
He preached with love and kindness;
He preached from shore to shore.
He whispered to the fallen, just go and sin no more.

And to the lonely widow, I surely wish her well.
I hope she holds no malice, toward young Perry Bell.
But point him to the Savior, Who does all things well.
His suffered mental anguish, No human tongue can tell.

If all the busy bodies, Would mind their own affairs;
They'd save many a heartache And many bitter tears.
When things does not concern you, Say, Oh! Leave them alone.
Up yonder you had better be thinking of your home.

And now to you, young prisoner; I'll say a word or two;
We know you feel discouraged And sometimes very blue.
But look up to the Savior, He'll cleanse you thru and thru.
Just lay your case before Him, He'll show you what to do.

The End— Composed by Mrs. H. K. Farmer, Pinchard, Alabama.