Stories from Indian Wigwams and Northern Camp-fires

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Hunt & Eaton, 1892 - Indians of North America - 293 pages
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Page 113 - Unto me, who am less than the least of all saints, is this grace given, that I should preach among the •Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ ; And to make all men see what is the fellowship of the mystery, which from the beginning of the world hath been hid in God, who created all things by Jesus Christ...
Page 80 - Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind: His soul, proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar walk or Milky Way...
Page 207 - There runs not a drop of my blood in the veins of any living creature. This called on me for revenge. I have sought it : I have killed many : I have fully glutted my vengeance. For my country I rejoice at the beams of peace. But do not harbor a thought that mine is the joy of fear.
Page 233 - With whom he came across the eastern deep, Fills the savannas with his murmurings, And hides his sweets, as in the golden age, Within the hollow oak. I listen long To his domestic hum, and think I hear The sound of that advancing multitude Which soon shall fill these deserts.
Page 241 - Jews ; to them that are under the law, as under the law, that I might gain them that are under the law; To...
Page 103 - Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in every place.
Page 207 - I appeal to any white man to say, if ever he entered Logan's cabin hungry, and he gave him not meat; if ever he came cold and naked, and he clothed him not. During the course of the last long and bloody war, Logan remained idle in his cabin, an advocate for peace. Such was my love for the Whites, that my countrymen pointed as they passed, and said, ' Logan is the friend of white men.
Page 234 - Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, — The seasons' difference : as the icy fang And churlish chiding of the winter's wind, Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, This is no flattery : these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Page 90 - You make my feet heavy with gifts and my moccasins will grow old in carrying them, yet the Book is not among them. When I tell my poor, blind people, after one more snow in the big council, that I did not bring the Book, no word will be spoken by our old men or by our young braves.
Page 90 - I came with an eye partly open for my people who sit in darkness. I go back with both eyes closed. How can I go back blind to my blind people? I made my way to you with strong arms through many enemies and strange lands that I might carry back much to them. I go back with both arms broken and empty ! Two fathers came with us; they were the braves of many winters and wars.

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