Iii

Time was kindly with this people In the ancient Vale of Pecos, In their citadel enseated High above the scarred arroyo, High upon the brunting mesa.

There within the storeyed houses Built about their dancing plaza, Walled against the foeman’s onslaught, Walled and towered and ever watchful, Safe and happy dwelt the people:

With their cornfields round about them In the pleasant watered valleys, Fair with corn of many colors Sacred to the Guardian Mothers---- White of Morn and blue of Zenith, Yellow for the burning Sunset, Speckled for the cloudy Northland: Earth and Sky have many colors, So the corn has colors many Sacred to the Guardian Mothers:

With their cornfields and their beanfields, With their vines of squash and pumpkin, With their sunflowers and tobacco, Dwelt the olden folk of Pecos Rich and happy in their valley:

And the fires upon their hearth-stones Glowed at dawn and glowed at twilight, And the wavering smoke ascended Quiet into quiet heavens---- Till the city seemed reflected In the vaporous blue of noonday, In the gleaming stars of night-time:

And the women at their grinding Sang the Song of Fruitful Pollen; And the maidens at their spinning Sang the Breath-song of the Cotton; And they wove their baskets singing, Singing modelled earthen vessels, Painted brown and black and yellow With the symbols of the Cloud-Folk, Of the Mist-Folk and the Rain-Folk, And the sudden zig-zag Lightning---- And they left the life-line broken For the spirit of the vessel That it might not be imprisoned In the moulded clay forever:

And the menfolk in the cornfields Sang the Song of Winter Breaking, Sang the Springtime and the Seeding, Sang the Tasseling and Summer, Sang the Fruitfulness of Harvest, And the Life that stirs in all things:

And within their sacred Kivas, Where the Priests and Elders gathered Round their Totems and their Altars, Underneath the painted symbol Of the Plumed and Crested Serpent, There they sang their Spirit Ancients And the deeds of mighty Heroes, Of the Brothers armed with sunbeams Where they slew the hateful monsters When the Primal People wandered And the World was in its making:

And within the sacred Kivas Said the prayers their sires had taught them, That the tribe might live forever Fathered by the Shining Heaven, Mothered on Earth’s fruitful bosom, With the Winds forever breathing Fourfold Life from out the Quarters Of the fourfold World man dwells in:

And the men and women gathered, And the young men and the maidens, And the children and the strangers, When above the Kivas flaunted Banners brilliant with bright feathers Telling of the coming feast-day With the dancing and the chanting And the altars set with prayer-plumes, Where the grave-faced Priests and Elders Smoked before the sacred emblems Of the Powers that watched the nation:

In the ancient Vale of Pecos, In its days of peace and plenty, When the people lived securely In their citadel enseated High above the scarred arroyo, High upon their granite mesa.

And within their sacred Kivas, Where the Priests and chieftains gathered, Painted with the Serpent Symbol, With their totems and their altars, Sang the days of Spirit Ancients. ]

The Cross of Christus crucified, With thorn-pressed brow and piercéd side, And body wounded sore. ]