The Sioux at prayer

[gordonartist]

As quietly as little rabbit's feet,

The morning-glory sun arrives to greet,

The Red Man as he worships in his way,

For this he asks the spirit every day:

"Before I judge my friend, O let me wear

His moccasins for two long weeks, and share

The path that he would take in wearing them;

Then I shall understand

And not condemn.



Take care.

Gordon.

[BabyRider]

Where did you find that little tidbit, Gordon? Being Native American I'm interested.

[gordonartist]

Hello Babyrider,

It was in a book published in Australia in 1963, compiled by Russ Tyson called "Pholosopher's Scrap Book". He was a radio announcer on a morning radio show called "The Hospital Halfhour."

He was sent bits and pieces of information from all over Australia. He collected them and put them into a book.

So, where the poem came from originally, I wouldn't know.

If I find any more such material, I'll let you know.

Take care,

Gordon.

[Bez]

Just beautiful...thanks Gordon :-6

[woppy71]

gordonartist wrote: As quietly as little rabbit's feet,

The morning-glory sun arrives to greet,

The Red Man as he worships in his way,

For this he asks the spirit every day:

"Before I judge my friend, O let me wear

His moccasins for two long weeks, and share

The path that he would take in wearing them;

Then I shall understand

And not condemn.



Take care.

Gordon.


To True, this little poem illustrates something that I believe strongly in: Never judge someone unless you have experienced what they have.

Nice one Gordon

[jbbarker1947]

Never judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes. Then you are a mile away from him and you have his shoes. Then you can say anything you want to about him.

It's a Texas thing.

[BabyRider]

I was hoping for a little more info on the origin of the "prayer." Native Americans did not call themselves "red", that was the white men who implemented that "title."

[Accountable]

jbbarker1947 wrote: Never judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes. Then you are a mile away from him and you have his shoes. Then you can say anything you want to about him.



It's a Texas thing.*snort* :yh_giggle

[spot]

The poem was written by Peggy Windsor Garnett who was born in 1895. It appears in her only collected volume of poetry, Audubon Trail, Carlton Printing Co., San Antonio, 1951.

I doubt whether it's relevant, but she had a second cousin called Neal.

[chonsigirl]

All Is Finished

I Wanted To Give Something Of My Past

To My Grandson.

I Told Him That I Would Sing

The Sacred Wolf Song Over Him.

In My Song, I Applealed To The Wolf

To Come And Preside Over Us,

While I Would Perform The Wolf Ceremony.

So That The Bondage Between My Grandson

And The Wolf Would Be Life Long.



I Sang.

In My Voice Was The Hope

That Clings To Every Heartbeat.

I Sang.

In My Words Were The Powers

I Inherited From My Forefathers.

I Sang.

In My Cupped Hands Lay A Spruce Seed..

The Link To Creation.

I Sang.

In My Eyes, Sparkled Love.

And The Song Floated

On The Sun's Rays From Tree To Tree.

When I Had Ended,

It Was As If The Whole World

Listened With Us

To Hear The Wolf's Reply.

We Waited A Long Time

But None Came.

Again I Sang,

Humbly

But As Invitingly As I Could,

Until My Throat Ached

And My Voice Gave Out.

All Of A Sudden

I Realized Why No Wolves Had Heard

My Sacred Song.

There Were None Left!

My Heart Filled With Tears.

I Could No Longer

Give My Grandson

Faith In The Past, Our Past.

I...wept In Silence.

All Is Finished!

Chief Dan George

Salish

(1899-1981)

[spot]

Not many points of contact between them, really. That's another world.