We Ask To Be Recognized As Men.

Good Words Will Not Give Me Back My Children.

We Live, We Die, And Like The Grass And Trees, Renew Ourselves From The Soft Earth Of The Grave. Stones Crumble And Decay, Faiths Grow Old And They Are Forgotten, But New Beliefs Are Born. The Faith Of The Villages Is Dust Now... But It Will Grow Again... Like The Trees.

Whenever The White Man Treats The Indian As They Treat Each Other Then We Shall Have No More Wars. We Shall Be All Alike - Brothers Of One Father And Mother, With One Sky Above Us And One Country Around Us And One Government For All. Then The Great Spirit Chief Who Rules Above Will Smile Upon This Land And Send Rain To Wash Out The Bloody Spots Made By Brothers' Hands Upon The Face Of The Earth. For This Time The Indian Race Is Waiting And Praying. I Hope No More Groans Of Wounded Men And Women Will Ever Go To The Ear Of The Great Spirit Chief Above, And That All People May Be One People.

We Were Taught To Believe That The Great Spirit Sees And Hears Everything, And That He Never Forgets; That Hereafter He Will Give Every Man A Spirit-home According To His Deserts: If He Has Been A Good Man, He Will Have A Good Home; If He Has Been A Bad Man, He Will Have A Bad Home. This I Believe, And All My People Believe The Same.

We Gathered All The Stock We Could Find, And Made An Attempt To Move. We Left Many Of Our Horses And Cattle In Wallowa. We Lost Several Hundred In Crossing The River.