Their Armies Will Not Shout Their Old Cries of Freedom Poem by Little Eagle McGowan

Their armies will not shout their old cries of freedom
Nor the oceans heave with the blood in their breasts
The voice in the wild wind with no words to lead 'em
Of the power they wielded they've been dispossessed.

They stood in the morning by the new shining strand
And dreamed of a heaven so close to their hands
Feeling blest with a future yet known to no man
And what they saw they took and called it American.

And the stones are now crying out just as loud as they can
And the rivers are drying out leavin' fish in the sand
And the mountains are fried out or cut down by man
Mother earth's all but died out — still they don't understand.