Indian melodies :: :: University of Virginia Library

Awful Spirit of the sky,
Hearken ... hearken to my cry!
Thou, who oft by anger driven,
Flingst the streaming fire from heaven;
And with big and bellowing sound,
Layst the smoking pine a-ground.
Thou, whom oft my fancy's eye,
Hath remark'd in passing by,
Sailing on the nether sky:
Hearken ... hearken to my cry!

Me, a hunter poor and weak,
Forced the flying game to seek;
Me, a warrior inly blind,
Often warring with my kind;
Seeking glory with the dart,
Or the white man's deadlier art,

Oh, direct me and if still,
Thy dread purpose I fulfil,
Give me strength and courage clear,
Still to wield the dart and spear,
Still to seek the woodland foe,
Panther, wolf, or carcajou;
Still to wander—still to be,
Hunter bold, or warrior free.

But if erring, wrong, or lost,
Evil step my path hath crost;
Lend me thy supernal light,
Once again to seek the right.
Teach me to forget the ill,
And the wiser course to fill;
And if they, who read and pray
Have the better, happier way,
Teach me war and rage to shun,
Bow and arrow, lance and gun.
Teach me peace and fame to seek,
With a spirit bland and meek;
And with arts of milder hue,
Such as Christian men pursue;
Such as heavenly words declare,
Hope and faith and love and prayer.

Now accept my humble rite,
Offered thus by nature's light;
Not in temple, where benign
Tapers gleam or banners shine;
But along this wild-wood lone,
On the rude, unchissel'd stone.
If thou aught amiss espy,
From thy mansions in the sky,

Let my purpose most sincere,
Hallow offering held so dear;
And the incense rise above,
Meek memorial of my love.—
Of my hope—that thou alone
Rulest on the silver throne;
And my faith—in cot or road
That thou only art the God.