O’er North Dakota’s rolling plains

The modest Roses grow.

Autumn—and burnished skies,

And parching, sun-scorched sod;

And by the wayside still there blooms

The stately Goldenrod.

Winter—the flowers are dead

And fierce the cold winds blow;

Yet ’spite of North Dakota’s snow

The flowers of Hope still grow.

[Pg 11]

[Pg 11]

THE DELUGE

(A Berthold Indian Legend)

Long ago, yes, oh, so long since,—

When the world was young and fair,

All the animals were friendly;

E’en the bison and the bear

Aided man with all their cunning,

Helped him with their counsels grave,

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