PRAIRIE WINDS.
91
At night when inner tempests blow,
And sleep forsakes my weary eye,
I love to hear the wind without
Go storming by.
It speaks my own wild native tongue
And gives me courage to withstand,
As if a comrade came to me
And took my hand.
I love all things that God has made
In earth or sea or heavens bright,
But most I love the prairie winds
That blow at night.
