Cherry Bloom And Green Buds Bursting Fleck The Azure Skies; In The Spring Wood, Hungering, Thirsting, Faint An Indian Lies. To Behold His Guardian Spirit Fasts The Dusky Youth; Prays That Thus He May Inherit Warrior Strength And Truth. Weak He Grows, The War-Path Gory Seems A Far Delight; Now He Scans The Flowers, Whose Glory Is Not Won By Fight. "Hunger Kills Me; See My Arrow Bloodless Lies: I Ask, If Life'S Doom Be Grave-Pit Narrow, Deathless Make Its Task. "For Man'S Welfare Guide My Being, So I Shall Not Die Like The Flow'rets, Fading, Fleeing, When The Snow Is Nigh. "Medicine From The Plants We Borrow, Salves From Many A Leaf; May They Not Kill Hunger'S Sorrow, Give With Food Relief?" Suddenly A Spirit Shining From The Sky Came Down, Green His Mantle, Floating, Twining, Gold His Feather Crown. "I Have Heard Thy Thought Unspoken; Famous Thou Shall Be; Though No Scalp Shall Be The Token, Men Shall Speak Of Thee. "Bravely Borne, Men'S Heaviest Burden Ever Lighter Lies; Wrestling With Me, Win The Guerdon; Gain Thy Wish, Arise!" Now He Rises, And, Prevailing, Hears The Angel Say: "Strong In Weakness, Never Failing, Strive Yet One More Day. "Now Again I Come, And Find Thee Yet With Courage High, So That, Though My Arms Can Bind Thee, Victor Thou, Not I. "Hark! To-Morrow, Conquering, Slay Me, Blest Shall Be Thy Toil: After Wrestling, Strip Me, Lay Me Sleeping In The Soil. "Visit Oft The Place; Above Me Root Out Weeds And Grass; Fast No More; Obeying, Love Me; Watch What Comes To Pass." Waiting Through The Long Day Dreary, Still He Hungers On; Once More Wrestling, Weak And Weary, Still The Fight Is Won. Stripped Of Robes And Golden Feather, Buried Lies The Guest: Summer'S Wonder-Working Weather Warms His Place Of Rest. Ever His Commands Fulfilling, Mourns His Victor Friend, Fearing, With A Heart Unwilling, To Have Known The End. No! Upon The Dark Mould Fallow Shine Bright Blades Of Green; Rising, Spreading, Plumes Of Yellow O'Er Their Sheaves Are Seen. Higher Than A Mortal'S Stature Soars The Corn In Pride; Seeing It, He Knows That Nature There Stands Deified. "'Tis My Friend," He Cries, "The Guerdon Fast And Prayer Have Won; Want Is Past, And Hunger'S Burden Soon Shall Torture None."