They would have known God never made,
A heart all darkness, and how long
The Indian bore aggressive wrong.
Old Logan was the white man’s friend;
But injuries forced his love to end;
Of children, wife, and kindred shorn,
None left for him to joy or mourn,
He rose in calm, vindictive ire,
Beside his nation’s council fire,
And bade them, by their fathers slain,