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.