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entirely broken; after years And Christian conquest must consume the toil And travail of the centuries. Our tears, Are but a poor atonement for the brand Our westward march has made on Nature's back. We mourn our forest fastnesses too late; With hand unbridled we have torn their face, And given legal sanction to their fate-- But what companionship can take their place? Nearest to Nature's very heart of hearts, The verdant monarchs beckon us to God; Their benison with life alone departs; They testify of Eden from the sod. O man! that thy perfection should be lost, When so much perfectness is left on earth! How much of bitterness! With what a cost Didst thou forget the sacred touch that hallowed thee at birth! The worship of Hurakin, "Heart of Heaven," Spoke of a healthier, higher growth of soul, The consciousness of sins to be forgiven; A god, whom weakness could at once control; A prophecy, of Fatherhood to come; A ray that pencils from the "great white throne;" A voice to energies, that had been dumb For many centuries--prophetic groan Of man's insatiate thirst for betterment, Not all in vain. The white-winged dove of peace For many years was theirs; they came and went Beyond their borders, without let or lease; Found sunnier climes to South; and, as a charm Was laid upon their footsteps, they advance To hover closer to their ancient god. They still were pliant to his fateful glance, And scanned his burnished surface to inquire His potency in human destiny. They had forgot the legend of his fire, Yet, from his searching, steadfast eye, not one of them were free. So pass they out from the historic ken-- Theirs, no aggressive way-mark on the earth. We linger on their passage, and the pen Would gladly pour regret upon the dearth Of the indentures they have left to mark Their peaceful, noiseless tread upon the shore; But it is vain; yet out of all this dark, One lesson may we glean: That evermore
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