The Hopi Indians

The Hopi Indians On the roofs of their terraced houses Wrapped in their gaudy blankets The Hopis of the desert land Are saluting the morning sun. Chill is the day — spring advancing Till the coming of the sunbeams, When their sun-god in his kindness Smiles as he welcomes his children. Caressing every one. The purple dawn has heralded His light o'er mesa and mountain, The red clouds have announced him near, The prayer chief is hailing the time: — He calls, "Come, worship the sun-god. The emblem of the Great Spirit! Ask for the rain in its season, That our fields may yield their bounty! And pray that all our foes shall be baffled Wherever our hills they climb!" On the narrow mesa looming, Their time-worn pueblo arises, Tier on tier of its terraced walls Unique in their strange displays; Growth of an old democracy, Religious, strong and defensive — A relic of war and conquest Lingering through the centuries In forms of their ancient ways. Deep in their nature is homage For faith in ancestral virtues, Deep in their hearts the reverence For each ceremonial rite ; Magic and mystery blending In ev'ry labor and pastime, Prayer intermingled with action And simple, votive offerings — While hid in their ancient kivas The seers their visions indite. Here in the underground chambers Are the emblems of their religion. Dear to the tribal villagers In mnemonic figures and art; Taught as a sacred oblation, Woven in the lore of their fathers, Sanctified by their traditions, Old as the hills of the desert And of the desert a part.

H71 IMPROVEMENT ERA Like the mysterious river, Deep in its gorge in the canyon, Knowing not from what source it comes Nor whither it finds the great sea, Is this, their thread of tradition, (Held from all unbelievers) In all of the terraced mesas, Coming down through the centuries Prophetic of what shall be: THE LEGEND Once were we part of a nation Refined in our arts and science; And in the wise Great Spirit's care His voice came to our seers: Obeying the laws of our prophets, All in one brotherhood joining, Like the forest leaves was our number, With peace in every household, While happiness blest our years. Out of the West, somewhere, sometim.' Three prophets shall greet our people — They who led us into this land, Commanding us here to sojourn — Never to plunder our neighbors; Never to leave our inheritance Nor move from our desert refuge; Nor altar our faith and worship Till hither the seers return. Yet holding their ancient customs — Refusing alluring changes — Waiting — waiting — through the years, Fulfilling the pledge they made; Why force them from their possessions? Force them from usual worship? Make them a down-trodden people In interests of our trade? As dear to them are their ritual, Their faith in God, the Great Spirit. Their testimony of answered prayer, Their hopes of the future state, As are the rites of all others Who worship the same Creator, Who sing the faith of their fathers, Who have the love and sincerity Their testimonies relate. From Isleta to Oriaba Their tribal remnants yet linger, Though grown apart for centuiies By variant manners and speech — Yet are the traditive customs Ordained by a power above them Unchanged in religious fervor — Yet is the dance a solemn rite Their Ancients retain and teach! Payson, Utah JOSEPH LONGKING TOWNSEND.