Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, Who have faith in God and Nature, Who believe that in all ages Every human heart is human, That in even savage bosoms There are longings, yearnings, strivings, For the good they comprehend not, That the feeble hands and helpless, Groping blindly in the darkness, Touch God's right hand in that darkness And are lifted up and strengthened;-- Listen to this simple story, To the song of Hiawatha. He then describes the making of the pipe from the great Red Pipe-Stone Quarry, as follows:-- "On the Mountains of the Prairie, On the great Red Pipe-Stone Quarry, Gitche Manito, the mighty, He the Master of Life, descending, On the red crags of the quarry Stood erect, and called the nations, Called the tribes of men together. From his foot-prints flowed a river, Leaped into the light of morning, O'er the precipice plunging downward Gleamed like Ishkoodah, the comet. And the Spirit stooping earthward, With his finger on the meadow Traced a winding pathway for it, Saying to it, 'Run in this way!' "From the red stone of the quarry With his hand he broke a fragment, Moulded it into a pipe-head, Shaped and fashioned it with figures; From the margin of the river Took a long reed for a pipe-stem, With its dark green leaves upon it; Filled the pipe with bark of willow; With the bark of the red willow; Breathed upon the neighboring forest, Made its great boughs chafe together, Till in flame they burst and kindled; And erect upon the mountains, Gitche Manito, the mighty, Smoked the calumet, the Peace-Pipe, As a signal to the nations." [Illustration: Pipe of Peace.] The next verses describe the assembling of the nations at the call of Gitche Manito, who proceeds to speak to his children words of wisdom and announces that he: "'Will send a prophet to you, A Deliverer of the nations, Who shall guide you and shall teach you, Who shall toil and suffer with you. So you listen to his counsels, You will multiply and prosper; If his warnings pass unheeded, You will fade away and perish! "'Bathe now in the stream before you, Wash the war-paint from your faces, Wash the blood-stains from your fingers, Bury your war-clubs and your weapons, Break the red stone from this quarry, Mould and make it into Peace-Pipes, Take the reeds that grow beside you, Deck them with your highest feathers, Smoke the calumet together, And as brothers live henceforward!' * * * * *