"The Indian's Song" by Israel Folsom
Land where brightest waters flow,
Land where loveliest forests grow,
Where warriors drew the bow,
Native land, farewell!
He who made yon stream and tree,
Made the White, the Red man free;
Gave the Indian's home to be
'Mid the forest's wilds.
Have the waters ceased to flow?
Have the forests ceased to grow?
Why do our brothers bid us go
From our native home?
Here in infancy we played,
Here our happy wigwams made,
Here our fathers' bones are laid—
Must we leave them all?
White men tell us God's on high,
So pure and bright in yonder sky,—
Will not then His searching eye
See the Indian's wrong?