(Show an Arrowhead)
1. O'er fields of new turned sod, communing with my God,
tramped along, and in a furrow bed I found an arrowhead,
chiseled from stone.
2. Then fancy fled on wings, back to primeval things,
Seeking the light--what warrior drew the bow, sighted,
and let it go on its last fight.
3. How oft this flinted head, on deadly errand sped,
I can not know--
Nor will the silent flint reveal the slightest hint,
How long ago.
4. Were its grim story told, what tales would it unfold,
Tales that would chill---
Know but this one thing, beyond all questioning,
Twas made to kill.
5. Ages have worn away, warriors their way;
Their bones are dust---
Proof of a craftman's skill survives the ages still---
Left in my trust.
By Enos B. Comstock - 1932 Handbook for Boys