University of Virginia Library

Bit by bit with tireless effort,
Was the hard flint flaked to form
Tip for shaft and spear-head
Long ago.

Time was counted naught in those days,
And the end sufficed the needs
Of the patient worker
For his bow.

Skilled in craft of plain and mountain,
He must ever be alert,
In the haunts of bison,
Or of deer.

On the shores of lak and river,
Trod his moccasin'e foot,
As he sought shy quarry
For his spear.

Lithe of limb with might of muscle,
Swiftly wends he o'er the portage,
Shoulders bearing lightly
His canoe.

Should he meet a wily foeman,
As he treads the darksome glades
His the need to dare then
And to do.

Thoughts like these come as we wander
O'er the fallowed fields and find
In our path an old
Arrow-head.

And new form in fervid fancy,
As we scan th' enduring flint,
A measure of those brave
Warriors dead.