GOD’S DRUM

This early Morning, This earliest Dawning, Behold the Youth, Streaked with flaming red, Wearing in his hair a waving feather, Into the Sky ascending! Upon me, Standing alone where the World is— Upon me comes the shining of his Ray. I, too, shall be ruddy with new life! I, too, shall wear in my hair the eagle’s plume! This day shall be fulfilled with accomplishment; Valiantly I shall ascend into the Sky!

In the spring when I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning, I see many smiles upon the meadows.... There are drops of shining dew clinging to the blue harebells, And the little white starflowers sparkle with dew, shining.... Old Woman Spider has beaded many beautiful patterns, Spreading them where the Sun’s ray falls.... He also is smiling as he catches the red of the blackbird’s opening wing, As he harkens to the mocking-bird inventing new songs.... I was an old man as I sat by the evening fire; When I bathe my feet in the wet grass of morning I am young again.

The birds that sing in the morning, Them I can understand: They call to one another proudly; Proudly they descant their songs; Proudly they look about, eager for response. But the frogs that sing when it is evening; I cannot understand them: They sing all at once, each one attentive to himself; They stop all at once, none gives an answer; The frogs have voices, they have not ears. Some men are like the birds; Some women are like the frogs.

The cottonwood trees, growing in clumps, They are very loquacious, conversing with one another. But the tall pines are like men in meditation, They seldom have anything to say. In winter the leaves of the cottonwoods are fallen, Their branches are shelterless; But the pine-trees are always green.

The Day is a blue Man, with a burning heart... The Night is a Woman, with a changing heart...

The Day is a blue Man with a burning heart; The bright clouds are his feather ornaments; The dark clouds are his spacious robes; The whole world is his rich possession, And the shining birds are the choirs that praise him: He is the Chieftain of all that live, And men call him ‘Father’.... The Night is a Woman with a changing heart, Which sometimes she reveals and sometimes she hides, And sometimes she sends palely, palely, after the Day; But her stars she keeps with her, always upon her bosom, For her stars are her little children that must be carried: Her stars are the spirits of all that die, And men call her ‘Mother’....

When we dance all together, We men: The drummers beat their drums, The singers sing.... In the midst of the vast prairie We are very small. Feathers are waving in the bright sunlight: Colors are flashing in the bright sunlight: A thin dust is floating upward where our feet are beating the brown earth. We are dancing because we do not know what to do about our lives: All together we are dancing because we wish to live.... In the midst of the vast prairie We are a very small nation, We men.

The circle of the Earth is the head of a great drum; With the day, it moves upward—booming; With the night, it moves downward—booming; The day and the night are its song. I am very small, as I dance upon the drum-head; I am like a particle of dust, as I dance upon the drum-head; Above me in the sky is the shining ball of the drum-stick. I dance upward with the day; I dance downward with the night; Some day I shall dance afar into space like a particle of dust. Who is the Drummer who beats upon the earth-drum? Who is the Drummer who makes me to dance his song?

Those men build many houses: They dig the earth, and they build; They cut down the trees, and they build; They work always—building. From the elevation of the mountain-side I behold the clouds: The clouds build many beautiful houses in the sky: They build, and they tear down; They build, and they dissolve.... The cities of white men, They are not beautiful, like the cloud cities; They are not vast, like the cloud cities.... A wind-swept teepee Is all the house I own....

Upon the blue mountain I stood, Upon the mountain as he sank into the Rivers of Night: The camps of the clouds in the heavens were shining with evening fires, many-colored, And the pools on the plain below gleamed with many reflections: All things were made precious with the Day’s last ray. Farewell, my Father, the Shining One! Farewell, whither thou goest, Like an aged chieftain adorned with the splendors of many deeds! Thou dost touch the world with many reflections, With parting injunctions many—— Thy thought thou hast given us.