From Birch Bark To Steel

I close my eyes from the sun’s bright ray,

     And gaze on the distant past;

When the red man trod the unturned sod,

     When forest was deep and vast.

When the smoke curled up from the wigwam crude

     To the waste of the blue-domed sky,

And the only note was the sound remote

     Of the dance or the war-whoop cry.

And I see on the shore of the wooded slope

     ‘Neath the branch of the low-hung tree,

An Indian maid with her long black braid

     And her eyes of mystery.

As she waits to cross o’er the limpid stream

     With her brave in his light canoe;

I see them afloat in their birch-bark boat,

     The lover and maiden true.

And the years pass on and I see the white

     Who has come from a distant land;

Who has pushed the red from his native bed

     And taken the ruling hand.

He has felled the tree with his good, strong arm,

     And fashioned a boat and oar;

He has crossed the stream with his goods and team,

     And the birch bark is no more.

And the years pass on and I see the sail

     With the old-time steering oar;

And the wind is caught – and the sails draw taut,

     And they ferry from shore to shore.

But they do not stop as the years roll on,

     Comes later the age of steam;

And the whistle shrill wakes valley and hill,

     As they ferry across the stream.

But birch-bark has gone, and the wooden skiff,

     And the sail is a thing of the past;

And the red is no more on the verdant shore

     And silent the ferry blast.

The Indian maid is a vague, vague dream,

     The campfire has died away;

The electric light has banished the night,

     And our shores are tied to stay.

And the years pass on! The depths of the earth

     Have given us ribs of steel;

We are tied for aye with a bond of gray,

     Place to place, for woe or for weal.

All hail the wondrous works of the Lord!

     Hail the skill of the men who build;

We are proud today of the bond of gray,

     All hail, our dream is fulfilled!

April 28, 1913

 NOTE – I’ve left what are often inappropriate or even racial terms and or descriptions as written. They are rare, and probably weren’t seen as objectionable within even New England society at the time. More importantly, they exist, and editing them out would be dishonest. Things were what they were. Still, including them, as I have done, remains awkward for obvious reasons, including personal taste and the harmfulness of their use. Hopefully, doing so will at least present an accurate picture of how ingrained some prejudices, or at least callousness to them, still were at the time, even among some of the more progressive people of the era.