(_He Makes Fire_)
Our land was cold and dying.
He waved his hand and lo!
Lightning leapt from cloudless skies;
The sun leant down;
And Fire was born!
Then while we crowded round
The grateful glow, pushed he
Our wayward, floating land
Back to peaceful anchorage
In sunny seas.
V
(_He Leads The People To Victory in War_)
Once only
Was his kindly countenance
Darkened by a deadly frown.
Woe to the wicked enemy
That dares attack
The tribe with Thinkalot for Chief!