Fearing that some of the people had done wrong, and it was for their sins that the “early and latter rains” were withheld, they, at the same time, prayed to the Great Spirit, throwing tobacco upon the fire, that their words might reach his ear and prove acceptable. “Great Spirit, listen to the words of thy suffering children. They come to thee with pure minds. If they have done wrong, they have confessed and turned their minds. Be kind to us. Hear our grievances and supply our wants. Direct that Heno may come and give us rain, that our supporters may not fail, and famine come to our homes.” Those who have been in the habit of thinking the Indians a godless, prayerless, and perfectly heathen race, will read, with surprise, those outpourings of their hearts in perfect love and trust, and their simple dependence upon the Great Giver for all they enjoyed. If they did wrong, they believed He would forgive them; if they did right, they believed He approved and loved them. They had no Sabbaths, yet they instituted regular periods of worship and formal ceremonies. These periods were indicated to them by natural events, and they heeded the voice of the spring-time and harvest, and “looked through nature up to Nature’s God.” At the strawberry festival, the feast consisted entirely of strawberries, eaten with maple sugar, in bark trays; and it was at these feasts alone that they all ate together, and before partaking, they were accustomed to say grace, as devoutly and reverentially as Christian people. A popular poet has thus rendered the thanksgiving prayer at the strawberry festival, which was repeated at every returning season, when they met to express their gratitude for this delicious fruit: [5] “Earth, we thank thee! thy great frame Bears the stone from whence we came; And the boundless sweeping gloom, Of our glorious league the Home. Thou the strawberry’s seed dost fold, Thou its little roots dost hold, First of all the fruits that raise Gifts for us in summer days. Thanks, too, thanks we give thee, lowly Ha-wen-ne-yu, great and holy! Maker wise! of all the sire— Earth and water, air and fire. Water, thanks! we safely glide, On thy bosom long and wide; Thou dost give the strawberry vine Drink when hot the sunbeams shine, Till its leaves spread fresh and bright, And its buds burst forth in white. Thanks, too, thanks we give thee, lowly, Ha-wen-ne-yu, great and holy! Maker wise! of all the sire— Earth and water, air and fire.