* * * * *
THE RIFT OF THE ROCK.
In the rift of the rock He has covered my head,
When the tempest was wild in the desolate land
Through a pathway uncertain my steps He has led,
And I felt in the darkness the touch of His hand
Leading on, leading over the slippery steep,
Where came but the echoing sound of the shock,
And, clear through the sorrowful moan of the deep,
The singing of birds in the rift of the rock.
In the rift of the rock He has sheltered my soul
When at noonday the toilers grew faint in the heat,
Where the desert rolled far like a limitless scroll
Cool waters leaped up at the touch of His feet
And the flowers that lay with pale lips to the sod
Bloom softly and fair from a holier stock;
Winged home by the winds to the mountains of God,
They bloom evermore in the rift of the rock.
In the rift of the rock Thou wilt cover me still,
When the glow of the sunset is low in the sky,
When the forms of the reapers are dim on the hill,
And the song dies away, and the end draweth nigh;
It will be but a dream of the ladder of light,
And heaven drawing near without terror or shock,
For the angels, descending by day and by night,
Will open a door through the rift of the rock.
Annie Herbert.
* * * * *
THE SIOUX CHIEF'S DAUGHTER
Two gray hawks ride the rising blast;
Dark cloven clouds drive to and fro
By peaks pre-eminent in snow;
A sounding river rushes past,
So wild, so vortex-like, and vast.
A lone lodge tops the windy hill;
A tawny maiden, mute and still,
Stands waiting at the river's brink,
As weird and wild as you can think.