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      To allay their thirst and fever,

      By the shadow of his right hand;

      Spake to them with voice majestic

      As the sound of far-off waters,

      Falling into deep abysses,

      Warning, chiding, spake in this wise:—

       "O my children! my poor children!

      Listen to the words of wisdom,

      Listen to the words of warning,

      From the lips of the Great Spirit,

      From the Master of Life, who made you!

       "I have given you lands to hunt in,

      I have given you streams to fish in,

      I have given you bear and bison,

      I have given you roe and reindeer,

      I have given you brant and beaver,

      Filled the marshes full of wild-fowl,

      Filled the rivers full of fishes:

      Why then are you not contented?

      Why then will you hunt each other?

       "I am weary of your quarrels,

      Weary of your wars and bloodshed,

      Weary of your prayers for vengeance,

      Of your wranglings and dissensions;

      All your strength is in your union,

      All your danger is in discord;

      Therefore be at peace henceforward,

      And as brothers live together.

       "I will send a Prophet to you,

      A Deliverer of the nations,

      Who shall guide you and shall teach you,

      Who shall toil and suffer with you.

      If you listen to his counsels,

      You will multiply and prosper;

      If his warnings pass unheeded,

      You will fade away and perish!

       "Bathe now in the stream before you,

      Wash the war-paint from your faces,

      Wash the blood-stains from your fingers,

      Bury your war-clubs and your weapons,

      Break the red stone from this quarry,

      Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes,

      Take the reeds that grow beside you,

      Deck them with your brightest feathers,

      Smoke the calumet together,

      And as brothers live henceforward!"

       Then upon the ground the warriors

      Threw their cloaks and shirts of deer-skin,

      Threw their weapons and their war-gear,

      Leaped into the rushing river,

      Washed the war-paint from their faces.

      Clear above them flowed the water,

      Clear and limpid from the footprints

      Of the Master of Life descending;

      Dark below them flowed the water,

      Soiled and stained with streaks of crimson,

      As if blood were mingled with it!

       From the river came the warriors,

      Clean and washed from all their war-paint;

      On the banks their clubs they buried,

      Buried all their warlike weapons.

      Gitche Manito, the mighty,

      The Great Spirit, the creator,

      Smiled upon his helpless children!

       And in silence all the warriors

      Broke the red stone of the quarry,

      Smoothed and formed it into Peace-Pipes,

      Broke the long reeds by the river,

      Decked them with their brightest feathers,

      And departed each one homeward,

      While the Master of Life, ascending,

      Through the opening of cloud-curtains,

      Through the doorways of the heaven,

      Vanished from before their faces,

      In the smoke that rolled around him,

      The Pukwana of the Peace-Pipe!