Our campfires' flame dies to the ground,
Come Mohawks gather near,
And pass the pipe of friendship 'round,
Ye children of the Bear.
Let every heart be like the flint
'Gainst petty thought or deed,
Let every heart be like the spring
For every brothers' need.
Now as the pow-wow breaks away
And we take the lonely trail,
May every heart be free from pain,
And kindness never fail.