The earth is but a grain of sand--
An atom in a shoreless sea;
A million worlds lie in God's hand--
Yea, myriad millions--what are we?
O mortal man of bone and blood!
Then is there nothing left but dust?
God made us; He is wise and good,
And we may humbly hope and trust.
WINONA.
_When the meadow-lark trilled o'er the leas
and the oriole piped in the maples,
From my hammock, all under the trees,
by the sweet-scented field of red clover,
I harked to the hum of the bees,
as they gathered the mead of the blossoms,
And caught from their low melodies
the air of the song of Winona_.
(In pronouncing Dakota words give "a" the sound of "ah,"--"e" the sound
of "a,"--"i" the sound of "e" and "u" the sound of "oo." Sound "ee" as
in English. The numerals refer to Notes in appendix.)
* * * * *
Two hundred white Winters and more
have fled from the face of the Summer,
Since here on the oak-shaded shore
of the dark-winding, swift Mississippi,
Where his foaming floods tumble and roar
o'er the falls and the white-rolling rapids,
In the fair, fabled center of Earth,
sat the Indian town of _Ka-tha-ga_.
Pages:
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189