I come from the plains where
The people are free;
The soft falling rains were
A father to me;
The prairie my mother.—
The fairest of earth,—
The west wind my brother
Who sang at my birth.

I come from the corn-land
Where the bread tree is grown;
I come from the morn-land
Where roses are blown :—
On the plains of the mountains
In the land of the west,—
By the Blue River fountains
The people shall rest.

I come in the spirit
That conquers the night,—
All men shall inherit
God’s landscape and light;
I come with the warning
Again and again ;—
Give the land and the morning
To children of men.

‘Tis the secret my brother
Still tells to the plain :—
The legend my mother
Long learned from the rain ;—
The song that my daughters
Bear down to the sea—
Wide spread as their waters
Its music shall be.