I learned this song in my Junior High Chorus Class. It was 1964 and I had never heard of the song before.It really seemed kind of exotic, in its African words and styling. We learned to sing trailing harmonies to it, with the basses and tenors singing Kumbaya just before the altos and sopranos shadowed the word with their higher harmony. We sang it in the gymnasium to an assembly of our schoolmates and teachers, and I can recall that the usually rowdy crowd was silent as the echoes of the song reverberated in the hall. It was always the kind of song that had a sort of magic in it, that sounded better unaccompanied by instruments, that sounded, as Janie said, like a prayer.

Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya!
Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya!
Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya!
Oh, Lord! Kumbaya!

Someone's crying, Lord, Kumbaya!
Someone's crying, Lord, Kumbaya!
Someone's crying, Lord, Kumbaya!
Oh, Lord! Kumbaya!

Someone's singing, Lord, Kumbaya!
Someone's singing, Lord, Kumbaya!
Someone's singing, Lord, Kumbaya!
Oh, Lord! Kumbaya!

Someone's praying, Lord, Kumbaya!
Someone's praying, Lord, Kumbaya!
Someone's praying, Lord, Kumbaya!
Oh, Lord! Kumbaya!

Beautiful in its simplicity, the song bears no reponsibility for how it was used, whether as a civil rights anthem or an anti-war hymn. It also transcends its use as a chide. When I hear it, it lies beyond those connotations, somewhere in the heart of a thirteen year old boy, where it still resonates.