nerve his powerless, palsied arm,

Or bend his useless bow.

But God was there,

And fervent prayer,

To Heaven ascended,

And sweetly blended

With angel’s song,

From Seraph’s tongue;

And Joy was there, and Hope, and Faith,

Triumphing over pain and death;

The Light of Truth around him shone,

Auspicious of the brighter dawn;

He trusted in the living God,

As washed in Jesus’ precious blood:

No dread of death or priestly power,

Could shake him in that fearful hour,

Nor tyrant’s rod.

The fluttering breath from his palsied lung,

No utterance gave to his quivering tongue;

But still his ear

Was bent to hear

The Words of Truth and Love;

His flashing eye

Glanced toward the sky,

And he whispered, “I shall die;

But God is Love; There’s rest above.”

III.

    He slept! the dying Indian slept!

A balmy peace had o’er him crept,

And for the moment kept

His senses steeped

In calm and sweet repose,—

Such as the dying Christian only knows.

Consumption’s work was done;

Its racking course was run;

His flesh was wasted, gone;

He seemed but skin and bone,

A breathing skeleton—

Deep silence reigned—no sound,

Save the light fluttering round

Of scattered leaflets, found

Upon the frozen ground,

And the gently whispering breeze,

Soft sighing through the trees,

Was in the wigwam heard;

The voice of man, and beast, and bird,

Were hushed—save the deep drawn sigh,

And the feeble wail of the infant’s cry,

Soothed by the mother’s sobbing lullaby,

And bursts of grief from children seated nigh,

Waiting to see their father die.

Kindred and friends were there,

Gathered for prayer,

To soothe the suffering and the grief to share;

And Angel Bands were near,

Waiting with joy to bear

A ransomed spirit to that World on high,

That “Heaven of joy and love, beyond the Sky.”

IV.

He dreamed! the dying Indian dreamed!

Flashes of Glory round him gleamed!

A bright effulgence beamed

From on high, and streamed

Far upward and around; it seemed

That his work on earth was done,

That his mortal course was run,

Life’s battle fought and won;

That he stood alone,

Happy, light and free,