The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day,
But glory remains when their lights fade away.
Begin, ye tormentors: your threats are in vain,
For the son of Alknomock can never complain.

Remember the woods, where in ambush he lay,
And the scalps which he bore from your nation away!
Why do ye delay? ... 'till I shrink from my pain?
Know the son of Alknomock can never complain.

Remember the arrows he shot from his bow;
Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low.
The flame rises high, you exult in my pain,
But the son of Alknomock will never complain.

I go to the land where my father is gone:
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son.
Death comes like a friend, he relieves me from pain,
And thy son, Oh Alknomock, has scorn'd to complain.