SONG TO NIAGARA.
Niagara! I hail thy magnificent wonders,
The work of my Father—the maker of All!
His voice 'tis I hear, in thy earth-shaking thunders,
As "Deep unto Deep" every moment "doth call!"
Waters rushing, always pushing
Over the ledge of crumbling rocks;
Ever leaping, never sleeping,
Sound His praise in ceaseless shocks.
Thy mist to my mind seems a Pillar enshrining
His All-glorious Presence, by day and by night!
Thy rainbows bespeak Him to Mercy inclining—
Though none who gaze on thee are clean in His sight!
Colors blending, mist ascending;
All are displaying His great power!
Rapids roaring, are adoring
Him—their Maker—every hour!
The myriads of pearls, and bright emerald glories,
Encircling thy brow, 'midst the foam and the spray,
Unite in presenting the most vivid stories
Of splendor and riches which He can display!
Pearls descending, without ending,
Down that giddy precipice,
Seem deriding our vain pride in
Works which can't compare with this.
The trees on thy banks look like worshippers standing,
To pay at Thy shrine their just tribute of praise;
And loudly, indeed, are their voices demanding,
That man unto God his sweet anthems should raise!
Each tree growing, oft is bowing,
Lowly its tall majestic head;
Man, still scheming, 's seldom dreaming
Of this feast before him spread!
My soul, quite enraptured, could stay here forever,
And drink in thy beauties with constant delight;
But something within me is whispering, "Never
Be so taken up with sublunary sight!"
Paths of Duty should have beauty
More than what I find in thee;
For thy glories tell no stories
Of some things worth much to me.
But yet I can gaze on thy dazzling brightness—
Thy rainbows, thy pearls, thy clear emerald green;
On rapids still toss'd into foam of pure whiteness;
On falls the most glorious that Earth has e'er seen!
Strength acquiring, in admiring
All as the matchless work of God;
Can, with pleasure, leave such treasure,
And my journey onward plod.
Around the Falls he lingered till past noon,
And still felt grieved to have to leave thus soon.
So loath was he a single charm to miss,
He oft went down and up the precipice,
By means of spiral stairs which constant shook,
As if by palsy-fit they had been struck.
The engine's whistle warns him now to go,
And take the cars for rising Buffalo.
In that new City he arrived ere night,
Which gave to him but very small delight.
Tools soon he found—sold only by the set;
And with his funds, the price could not be met.
Here was a fix! Naught for him now remained
But to return, with just his pleasure gained!
This, as an offset, stood against the debt
He had incurred, and kept him from a fret.
Once more I pause, but with a hope quite strong,
That I may soon resume my simple song.