Impart a soft intelligence, to show me where they lie,
The very birds that sail the air, and scream as on they go,
Give me a clue my course to tread, and lead me to the foe.
The sun, at dawn, lifts up his head, to guide me on my way,
The moon, at night, looks softly down, and cheers me with her ray.
The war-crowned stars, those beaming lights, my spirit casts at night,
Direct me as I thread the maze, and lead me to the fight.
In sacred dreams within my lodge, while resting on the land,
Bright omens of success arise, and nerve my warlike hand.
Where'er I turn, where'er I go, there is a whispering sound,