Meadow and Mountain 



song-story. I fear me this is only a delusive dream. You 

 have sung to me, good Friend, about the scenes of civiliza- 

 tion. Still I feel that the reality of it must be far aw.ay. 

 My feet are blistered. My lips are burnt. My tongue is 

 thick for want of water. My limbs are weary with fruitless 

 wanderings. My eyes are dim with distant looking. Close 

 enough to hear the song, but far enough away to die without 

 the solace of the singer. 



"Dear Piute, it is time for dawn, but the darkness never 

 seemed so deep. I can no longer catch the scent of the sage. 

 Even the morning star has lost its splendor. Dear Piute, 

 let me touch your hand, I can not see your face. Stir the 

 tepee-fire the dawn's breath chills me 



Nay, it was not the sweet morning air that made the 

 desolate dreamer cold. At day-dawn the sunset winds of 

 life were blowing on the desert sands. Their chilly swiftness 

 caught Wewoka's breath away, and the risen sun found the 

 wanderer stretched in silence on a lonely couch of sage and 

 sand. The desert was as still as Wewoka, save the faint 

 strains of a song that was singing on the wind 



Oh, Musical Mount, thou hast taught me to know 

 That the sweet winds of God rare music can blow 

 From the edges of rocks under night-smitten sky, 

 Till the soul of man drinks rhythmic life from on high ; 

 Thou hast taught me to listen to voices that speak 

 In the Holy of Holies from valley or peak; 

 To gaze from a crevice while God passes by 

 In shining Apocalypse trailing the sky; 

 Then hush thee, my Soul, and list in thy roaming, 

 For the music of God that sounds in the gloaming, 

 And let His good angels, Thy guests from on high, 

 Stretch all thy life-chords in tune with the sky. 



302 



