'Preacher' Harry Powell I can hear you whisperin', children, so I know you're down there. I can feel myself gettin' awful mad. I'm out of patience, children. I'm coming to find you now. 'Preacher' Harry Powell Leaning, leaning!
Safe and secure from all alarms!
Leaning, leaning!
Leaning on the everlasting arms! 'Preacher' Harry Powell Oh, them poor little lambs. To think I never hoped to see them again in this world. No, dear Madam, if you was to know what a crown of thorns I've borne in my search for them stray chicks.