"O, my white squaw, come from thy wigwam grey,
"Spread thy white blanket on the twice-slain dead;
"And hide them, ere the waking of the Sun!"

* * * * *

High grew the snow beneath the low-hung sky,
And all was silent in the Wilderness;
In trance of stillness Nature heard her God
Rebuilding her spent fires, and veil'd her face
While the Great Worker brooded o'er His work.

* * * * *

"Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree,
What doth thy bold voice promise me?"

* * * * *

"I promise thee all joyous things,
That furnish forth the lives of kings!

* * * * *

"For ev'ry silver ringing blow,
Cities and palaces shall grow!"

* * * * *

"Bite deep and wide, O Axe, the tree,