Native American Spirituality

[Spirit Dancer]

Written by an 1895 senior of the Cherokee National Female Seminary upon her graduation.

Alma Mater

Many years ago, some Indians
Left their homes in Alabama
Left the red sand hills of Georgia;
Left their friends and all behind them
And with faces stern and solemn
Set out for the western country-
For the new land purchased for them
Many weary miles they traveled
Many hardships they encountered
Climbing mountains, crossing rivers,
Facing wind and rain and weather
Braving hunger and misfortune
Till ot last stretched out before them
Beautious hills and fertile valleys,
Prairie lands and herds of cattle,
Beulah land of peace and plenty.
This, the goal of all their wanderings,
Rest for weary way-worn travelers.
Here they settled with their families,
Built them homes of log and mortar,
Built their chimneys wide and ample,
Hung outside the door the latchstring;
Tilled the soil, and planted orchards,
Herded steers and drove them northwards.
Prosperous was this tribe of Indians
As the happy years passed o’er them.
Spacious grew their humble dwellings,
Wide their fields, and rich their orchards.
Towns they built for trade and barter,
Fairest of all – the town Tahlequah,
Nestled in a smiling valley,
Wrapped is softest summer sunshine,
Kissed by gentle fragrant breezes,
With the hill’s strong arms about her-
Fairest of all the Nation’s children.
In this little town Tahlequah
At the bottom of a foot-hill
Gushes forth a spring of water
Pure and sweet and clear and sparkling
As the one the Muses drank from,
And our fathers, as they stood there,
Drinking the life-giving nectar,
Looking upward, looking northwards,
Let their eyes rest on this hill-top
Felt the spell of Jove upon them,
As when in the old time legend,
From his forehead sprang Minerva

Then came heaps of sand and mortar,
Bricks and stones and heavy timbers;
Men with axes, saws and hammers,
Men with squares, and planes, and trowels,
Men with horses, mules and wagons--
All the air was filled with rumbling
Sharp reports and heavy pounding,
Blasting rock and earth upheavals,
When at last the din was over
And the darkened sky grew clearer,
There arose from out of the chaos,
Bright and shining, grand and classic,
Graceful arches, Gothic towers,
Fit abode for Wisdom’s goddess.

Then from all parts of the nation,
From humblest homes, and from the richest
Came the bright-faced Indian maidens;
Maidens fair and maidens dusky,
Maidens tall and short and ‘pudgy,’
Came they to this seat of learning;
Drank they from this sparkling fountain
And with thirsty souls unslaked
Longed for more of Hebe’s potion; --
And in time sent back their daughters
That their lives might be so sweetened
And their days and deeds be fruitful.
Should you ask me whence the learning--
Whence the power and pride and greatness
Of this tribe of Indian people,
I shall point you to this college,
That for years has schooled its women
Wives and mothers of these people
Whose brief story I’ve related.

And the maidens now departing
From this dear old Alma Mater,
From this dear old second Mother
Who has cared for them so gently
Through the sweet years of their girlhood,
Leave the wish and prayer behind them
That, as future years roll onward
Blotting out our race of people,
She may stand here always ready,
Glad to welcome Indian children
And to keep alive tradition--
Monument to all the greatness
Of this proudest Indian Nation.

-by an 1895 Senior