THE PASSING OF “THE CHIEF”
It seems I hear old “Lobo” howl far off along the ridge,
And in my own heart echoes too the sadness of his dirge.
As he bespeaks in mournful tones the sorrow of his kind,
His grief is not a bit more keen than is my own, I find.
He grieves the passing of a man whose great and kindly heart,
Made him the champion of the low, portraying with his art
The beauties nature gave to us that we might fully live,
And the many many joys that a simple kindness gives.
While “Lobo” mourns a champion I keenly mourn a friend,
Whose council I shall surely miss until my life must end.
And yet for me there is surcease from this deep pain I bear,
For at each council fire I know his spirit will be there.
And as the curling smoke does rise to those far heights above,
To me comes recollection of his all embracing love.
And to me from some other land beyond this earthly sphere,
Will come his inspiration; his spirit will be here.
I will see him in the embers at the close of every day,
And renew my soul with courage for my trip along the way,
Until that council fire above I will at length attain,
To sit within the circle of his fellowship again.
WASIAKA, (Stephen M. Jessup.)
