Every part of this country is sacred to my people.
Every hillside, every valley, every plain and grove has been hallowed by some fond memory or some sad experience of my tribe.
Even the rocks, which seem to lie dumb
as they swelter in the sun along the silent shore in solemn grandeur
thrill with memories of past events connected with the fate of my people,
the very dust under your feet responds more lovingly to our footsteps than to yours,
because it is the ashes of our ancestors,
and our bare feet are conscious of the sympathetic touch,
for the soil is rich with the life of our kindred.
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