You shall gayly race on the bright prairie.
These were the promises of the songs, and as the visitors sang my despairing people became like little children; their hearts melted, they laughed and wept and shouted in time to the music. Some strange power seemed to go with the motions of The Bear’s hands. We all seemed to be looking upon the very scenes of which he sang, and my throat closed with an emotion I could not control.
An old man, called Looking Eagle, suddenly rose and, stretching forth his hands, cried out in a thrilling voice:
“I see it—the new land! I can see the buffalo feeding in myriads. It is Spring and the grass is new. My father stands at the door of his lodge. He calls with his hand. My mother is there. Ho! I come, my father.”
Then he fell on the ground and The Kicking Bear and his friends joined hands and, breaking into a song which made my own heart leap, they began to dance in a circle about the fire:
“The whole world of the dead is returning.
Our nation is coming, is coming, is coming.
The eagle has brought us the message,
Bearing the word of the Father—
The word and the wish of the Father.