Gitche Manito, the mighty,
He the Master of Life, descending,
On the red crags of the quarry 5
Stood erect, and called the nations,
Called the tribes of men together.
From his footprints flowed a river,
Leaped into the light of morning,
O’er the precipice plunging downward 10
Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet.
And the Spirit, stooping earthward,