Reminiscences of Early Peoria
by Odillon B. Slane
Chapter 18
page 38
ODE TO AN INDIAN
MOTHER
Gently dream, my darling child,
Sleeping in the lonely wild,
Would thy dreams might never know
Clouds that darken mine with woe;
Oh, to dream as thou art dreaming.
All the hopeless hours beguiling.
With the hope that thou might see
Blessings that were hid from me.
CHORUS
Lullaby my gentle boy
Sleeping in the wilderness.
Dreaming in thy childish joy
Of a mother's fond caress,
Lullaby, Lullaby.
Sleep while gleams the council fires,
Kindled by our ancient sires;
Guarded by thy God above
Sleep and dream of peace and love,
Dream not of the hand that perished,
O'er the sacred soil they cherished.
Or the ruthless race that roams,
Or our ancient shrines and homes.
CHORUS
Sleep while Autumn glories
fly,
'Neath the melancholy sky,
From the trees before the storm
Chased by winter's tyrant form.
Oh! t'was thus our warriors wasted,
On their altars torn and blasted,
Guided by the storm and strife,
Living still, yet cursing life:
-- Author Unknown
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Updated September 20, 2005