I shall go down into this land

Of the great Northwest:

This land of the free ordinance,

This land made free for the free

By the patriarchs.

Shall it be Michigan,

Or Illinois,

Or Indiana?

These are my people,

These are my lovers, my friends—

Mingle my dust with theirs,

Ye sacred powers!

Clouds, like convoys on infinite missions,

Bound for infinite harbors

Float over the length of this land.

And in the centuries to come

The rocks and trees of this land will turn,

These fields and hills will turn

Under unending convoys of clouds—

O ye clouds!

Drench my dust and mingle it

With the dust of the pioneers;

O Earth that looks into space,

As a man in sleep looks up,

And is voiceless, at peace,

Divining the secret—

I shall know the secret

When I go down into this land

Of the great Northwest!

Draw my dust

With the dust of my beloved

Into the substance of a great rock,

Upon whose point a planet flames,

Nightly, in a thrilling moment

Of divine revelation

Through endless time!