60 THE DYING INDIAN'S DREAM Triumphing over pain and death; The Light of Truth around him shone, Auspicious of the brighter dawn; He trusted in the living God , As washed in Jesu's precious blood; No dread of death or priestly power, Could shake him in that fearful hour, Nor tyrant's rod. The fluttering breath from his palsied lung, No utterance gave to his quivering tongue; But still his ear Was bent to hear The Words of Truth and Love; • His flashing eye Glanced toward the sky, And he whispered, " I shall die; But God is Love; There's rest above." III. He slept! the dying Indian slept! A balmy peace had o'er him crept, And for the moment kept His senses steeped In calm repose,— Such as the dying Christian only knows. Consumption's work was done; Its racking course was run; His flesh was wasted, gone; He seemed but skin and bone, A breathing skeleton— Deep silence reigned—no sound, Save the light fluttering round Of scattered leaflets, found Upon the frozen ground, And the gently whispering breeze, Soft sighing through the trees,