FI-LEE-MON, The Laughing Freeman

Lyrics

(Campfire song – simple folk melody, easy group sing-along) Spoken Intro
(Leader, unaccompanied, warm and easy) Gather in close now… fire’s good and the night is listening. But it’s just about bedtime for the kiddos. There was a man among us once—a freeman out of Jamaica, raised in New Orleans, who took his hammer and his laugh up the Mississippi in the 1830s. Settled in Iowa Territory where a Black face was rare, yet he and his beautiful wife Beulah were welcomed at every door. Folks would come by the forge for nothing more than the sound of his deep voice and that big, charming laugh that made children forget the cold. He never bragged. Never had to. Just smiled, struck the anvil, and when someone asked his name he’d say it soft and low, the way the islands taught him: “Fi-lee-mon.” Say it with me once… “Fi-lee-mon.” That’s the man. That’s the song. (Begin strumming gently into the chorus) Chorus
Oh, Philemon swings the hammer,
(He say it “Fi-lee-mon,” slow and low)
And the iron sings his name.
His laugh rolls like the river,
And the children call his name.
Handsome in the firelight,
Humble as the rain,
But the stories that he carries
Will never leave again. Verse 1
Born a freeman in Jamaica,
Raised where the river bends,
In New Orleans he learned the anvil
And the way a tale begins.
Then the Mississippi called him
In the eighteen-thirties on—
Up to Iowa he traveled
With Beulah by his side,
And though a Black man there was rare,
Every door was opened wide. Chorus
Oh, Philemon swings the hammer,
(He say it “Fi-lee-mon,” soft and deep)
And the iron sings his name.
His laugh rolls like the river,
And the children call his name.
Handsome in the firelight,
Humble as the rain,
But the stories that he carries
Will never leave again. Verse 2
People stopped by just to listen
At the forge beside the road,
For his deep voice spinning stories
And the laugh that freely flowed.
Beulah smiling in the doorway,
Children gathering round the fire,
Till the sparks and that great laughter
Lifted every heart a little higher.
“Fi-lee-mon! Fi-lee-mon!” they’d cry,
And he’d laugh till the stars came out. Chorus
Oh, Philemon swings the hammer,
(He say it “Fi-lee-mon,” like a song)
And the iron sings his name.
His laugh rolls like the river,
And the children call his name.
Handsome in the firelight,
Humble as the rain,
But the stories that he carries
Will never leave again. Bridge
Listen close, you can hear it still—
That laugh that lifts the dark.
It starts low in the belly,
Then rises like a spark.
From the Mississippi current
To the Iowa prairie air,
One man’s humble gift of joy
Is still floating everywhere.
So if the night feels heavy
And the stories seem far gone,
Just call out “Fi-lee-mon…”
And the laugh will carry on. Verse 3
No boast upon his shoulders,
No pride to weigh him down,
Just the gift of strong hands working
And a voice that held the town.
With Beulah at his shoulder,
And the welcome in every face,
He shaped the iron and the evenings
In that quiet prairie place.
So gather closer, children,
Let the embers do the same—
And if you hear that great laugh rising,
You’ll know you’ve called his name:
“Fi-lee-mon… Fi-lee-mon…” Final Chorus (repeat, softer, then build)
Oh, Philemon swings the hammer…
(He say it “Fi-lee-mon,” one last time…)