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PRAIRIE SONGS
From blinding snow and bitter wind Nor, like the Indian, crouching low Above a brush-fire's feeble glow But, vigorous and strong, Hasting their bidden task to close Whate'er obstructions interpose And parrying Fortune's adverse blows Right gaily, with a song.
Plains of the mighty, virgin West, Plains in cold, sterile beauty dressed, Your time of fruit draws near! Creatures of thicket, vale and shore, Tribes of the hills, your reign is o'er, The conquerer is here! His footprints mark your secret grounds, His voice upon your air resounds, His name, unto your utmost bounds, Is one of strength and fear.
The magic of his virile powers
Shall change your desert wastes to bowers,
Your nakedness to shade ;
Shall stretch broad, rustling ranks of corn
Along your stony crests forlorn
And wheat-fields, dappling in the sun,
Where your mad autumn fires have run.
The trails your bison made
Shall grow beneath his hurrying feet
To highway broad and village street,
Along whose grassy sides shall sleep
Meadows and orchards, fruited deep;
Homesteads and schools and holy fanes
To prove that all these fertile plains
Are turned by God's eternal plan
To serve the onward march of man,
Which sweeping down the vale of time
With gathering strength and hope sublime
Is never checked nor stayed. |
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