Though the cloud has varied, now passing away, now returning blacker than before--though the cheering light of the sun has for a moment dispelled the gloom-- 'twas but for a moment! for it was sure to break in terrors over your head.

Your name is your history, your life has been a checkered cloud! But the storm of the day has yielded to the influence of the setting sun.

The thunder has ceased to roll, the wind has died away, and the golden streaks that bound the horizon promise a brighter morning.

So with Checkered Cloud, the storm and strife of the earth have ceased; the "battle of life" is fought, and she has conquered.

For she hopes to meet the beloved of earth in the heaven of the Dahcotahs.
And who will say that our heaven will not be hers?
The God of the Dahcotahs is ours, though they, less happy than we, have not been taught to know him.