LAC DU SAINT SACREMENT.
Fair in their peace, ’twixt shore and shore,
Lake George’s waters rest,
And fair the great hills, rising o’er,
Lie mirrored on its breast.
The leafy forests hide no tread
Of stealthy Indian foe,
The sunshine gilds no dusky head
In shadow stealing slow.
The calm no hostile navies rend,
Pealeth no threat’ning gun,
Silence and stillness softly blend
Beneath the undimmed sun.
Faded the lilies’ bloom long since
On Horicon’s green mere;
The soldiers of the German prince
Lift not the red cross here.
The stars alone are guardians now
Of this bright forest sea
Whose waves, whatever wind may blow,
Sing freedom’s royalty.
Ah! fair Lake George, I would thy name
Were changed for one more meet,
That thy bright waters spoke the fame
Of him whose accents sweet
First named thee in a Christian tongue—
His maimed hands raised to bless—
Who, rapturous, round thy beauty flung
Thy Maker’s loveliness.
Who sighed blind Indian souls to lead
Unto their Father’s feet,
To teach strong hands for peace to plead,
Fierce hearts Christ’s cross to greet.
Who bore with awe his Master’s name,
Was bound for His sweet sake,
God’s glory deed and thought should claim,
Knowing no lesser stake.
Who ready stood, for God’s dear love,
Through toil and torture fire
Still with the cross to point above—
A living Christian spire.
O lake beguiling! on that eve
How still thy waters lay,
All hushed in sunshine each green wave
Calm as the golden day.
How full of grace on that blessed eve—
God’s love athwart the sky;
Pure as his balm for souls that grieve
Thy mirror seemed to lie.
Warm as the Love that gave itself
The softened mountains seemed;
Fusing strong tree and rugged shelf,
The wondrous glory streamed.
A burning worship heaven filled,
And breathless it adored,
While through the air, all-reverent, stilled,
The earth’s sweet incense soared.
Did dreams of France, his own loved France,
The Jesuit’s spirit steep
With thought of hearts that love would trance
As they God’s feast should keep
With myriad lights and thronging flowers,
Strong voices’ mellow peal?
And did he long through those sweet hours
Before his Lord to kneel?
From far cathedral pomp aloof,
And simple, loving hearts,
For columned church the wood’s green roof
Darkened with heathen arts.
Still seemed the glory of the day
The golden hope to give
Of Love Almighty’s deathless sway
O’er nations yet to live.
An echo of St. Thomas’ hymn
Came faintly o’er the wave;
The Jesuit’s eyes with tears grew dim
At thought of souls to save.
And “Bone Pastor, Panis vere,”
His firm lips softly spoke,
O “Jesu, nostri miserere,”
From heart, love-burdened, broke.
And “Lauda Sion, Salvatorem”
Thy glad waves seemed to cry;
While “Lauda Ducem et Pastorem”
Flung back the happy sky.
Lake of the Blessed Sacrament,
That hour won thy name’s grace
As holiest thought of love was lent
To sign thy maiden face.
Its look of heaven as of yore
Still wears thy calm, sweet face;
Alas! that thou shouldst keep no more
Thy first baptismal grace.