THE GHOST-DANCE RELIGION AND THE SIOUX OUTBREAK OF 1890

Say, shall not I at last attain Some height, from whence the Past is clear, In whose immortal atmosphere I shall behold my dead again? Bayard Taylor. For the fires grow cold and the dances fail, And the songs in their echoes die; And what have we left but the graves beneath, And, above, the waiting sky? The Song of the Ancient People. My Father, have pity on me! I have nothing to eat, I am dying of thirst— Everything is gone! Arapaho Ghost Song.