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DALL 



Oh, we are the Innuit people, 



Who lie in the topek warm; 

 While the northern blast flies strong and fast, 



And fiercely roars the storm; 



Recounting the ancient legends, 



Of fighting, hunting, and play, 

 When our ancestors came from the southland tame, 



To the glorious Arctic day. 



There is one sits by in silence, 



With terror in her eyes: 

 For she hears in dreams the piteous 



screams 



Of a cast-out babe that dies 

 Dies in the snow as the keen winds 



blow, 



And the shrieking northers come 

 Of that dreadful day when she starv- 

 ing lay, 

 Alone in her empty home. 



