Classic Poem

Gulf of the Great Sun-Spirit,
Within whose deeps mountain-pueblos rise,
Or mountain-tepees vast for His abiding;
Gulf which the Colorado's quivering arrow-water pierces,
Deeper and deeper pierces, from its mountain-might shot forth,
Hear the cry of your people who are passing!

The Pale-face came in his prows across the ocean,
The Pale-face came with his ploughs across the plains,
He swept the primitive years back, as a herd is swept by fire,
The Indian years away, into the sunset,
And now they are dying from the world for ever.

For the master of earth was he — and we as children!
The trails he has run across it are of steel, strong and enduring;
And a giant bison, the monster locomotive, draws his burden —
Snorting across the prairies and the mountains.
And he feeds it rock from the earth — out of the earth he calls up water,
To quench its thirst when river and lake are spent.

And he builds him lodges — mighty and hung with trophies!
They are of stone, and tower, O Gulf, sunward,
Like these of yours that were not made by hands.
And he brings the stars down out of the heavens to light them,
And snares invisible powers to work their will.

For the master of earth is he — and we papooses!
Our voice, on the war-path, dies at the sough of wind,
But his is whispered across the storms and wars of a continent!
For the air is his, too; and he makes him wings to soar upon it,
To rise and scorn the eagle far beneath him.

Yet hear, O Gulf, and hear, Great Spirit in it,
Thy people, who are coyotes now, that hunger beyond the campfires,
And know they can never take their place beside them;
Who feed on the bones the Pale-face leaves when he hews new trails before him,
Feed — and ever are fewer upon the pastures!

Hear, for we would not die from the fields of our fathers:
Our long home — ere the Pale one with his homes made us homeless:
And be forgot as a smoke of yesterday.
We would not die, O Spirit, not fade from it,
Ere a Chieftain with our wisdom girdled, arise and reveal to the world
How we have passed into our Conqueror.

How we have taught him wildness such as the deer feels,
And primitive freedom to his freedom added:
How he has learnt silences from our wigwam,
The night sky, where you, Great Spirit, go,
And so is made the mightier for his destinies.