Long the walk to my stopping place, Birmingham jail and a state of grace; On a windy bridge we bared our faces-- Arms linked tight To procure the right. "My feets is tired, but my soul is rested." John Brown's body like a relic slept, Which on the battlefield stood sore-tested; What light shone down from unearthly sources? Nat Turner's neck Justice annexed. "My feets is tired, but my soul is rested." Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego first Walked the fires Nebuchadnezzar burst; That disobedience might hatch from a holy nest, Those shadows strolled Into furnace-gold. "My feets is tired, but my soul is rested."