A cold river flows from the mountains
When the ice melts on the high peaks.
A cool wind blows hard against
An Indian boy’s cheeks.
He is braving the forces of nature,
To come where the Great Spirit dwells.
In the heart of the forest primeval,,
I hear him say, ” All is well.”
He believes that before he prays,
The Great Spirit will make it so.
He kneels as he asks for forgiveness,
And healing as he stands to go.
I hear him speak in the wind:
“It is done. It is done.”
I wish I had faith like his:
That God’s will has begun.