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He woke! the dying Indian woke

Opened his eyes and spoke:

A heavenly radiance broke

From his bright beaming eye,

And with a loud exultant cry,

And clear ringing voice,

In the soft accents of his native tongue,

And in glowing imagery,

Suited to the theme,

Like that of the Immortal Dreamer’s Dream,

In Bedford’s mystic “Den,” whose fame,

He’d never heard, nor knew the “Pilgrim’s” name,—

Or that Sublimer Song,

By John of old, in Patmos’ Prison sung,

To the Celestial Throng;—

Whose dazzling visions of the Throne,

He’d never read, or heard, or known;

He told the visions of his head,

While slumbering upon his bed;

And spoke of those unutterable joys

Prepared on high,

Beyond the sky,

For sinners saved in Jesus when they die.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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