The next Sabbath the pastor of the church discoursed upon the subject, and an indescribable thrill pervaded the hearts of some of the people as they repeated the words, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

GONE AWAY.

    Here, where now are mighty cities,
        Once the Indians’ wigwam stood;
    Once their council-fires illumined,
    Far and near, the tangled wood. 
        Here, on many a grass-grown border,
    Then they met, a happy throng;
        Rock and hill and valley sounded
    With the music of their song. 
        Now they are not,—­they have vanished,
    And a voice doth seem to say,
        Unto him who waits and listens,
        “Gone away,—­gone away.” 
    Yonder in those valleys gathered
        Many a sage in days gone by;
    Thence the wigwam’s smoke ascended,
        Slowly, peacefully, on high. 
    Indian mothers thus their children
        Taught around the birchen fire,—­
    “Look ye up to the great Spirit! 
        To his hunting-grounds aspire.” 
    Now those fires are all extinguished;
        Fire and wigwam, where are they? 
    Hear ye not those voices whispering,
        “Gone away,—­gone away!”
    Here the Indian girl her tresses
        Braided with a maiden’s pride;
    Here the lover wooed and won her,
        On Tri-mountain’s grassy side. 
    Here they roamed from rock to river,
        Mountain peak and hidden cave;
    Here the light canoe they paddled
        O’er the undulating wave. 
    All have vanished-lovers, maidens,
        Meet not on these hills to-day,
    But unnumbered voices whisper,
        “Gone away,—­gone away!”
    “Gone away!” Yes, where the waters
        Of the Mississippi roll,
    And Niagara’s ceaseless thunders
        With their might subdue the soul,
    Now the noble Indian standeth
        Gazing at the eagle’s flight,
    Conscious that the great good Spirit
        Will accomplish all things right. 
    Though like forest-leaves they’re passing,
        They who once held boundless sway,
    And of them ’t will soon be written,
        “Gone away,—­gone away!”
    As they stand upon the mountain,
        And behold the white man press
    Onward, onward, never ceasing,
        Mighty in his earnestness;
    As they view his temples rising,
        And his white sails dot the seas,
    And his myriad thousands gathering,
        Hewing down the forest trees;
    Thus they muse:  “Let them press onward,
        Not far distant is the day
    When of them a voice shall whisper,
        ‘Gone away,—­gone away!’”

LINES TO MY WIFE.