The Chief, where the quiet waters lay,
Up stream, pursued his homeward way,
To wait the close of another day.
The Priest, beneath those lofty trees,
In adoration fell on his knees.
All night long, on that wonderful sod,
Where never before had white man trod,
He wandered, ceaselessly praising God
For the mercies to him granted.
Oft, in worship he bowed his head,
His beads he told, his prayers he said.
And, 'mid those graves of unknown dead,
O'er whom no burial rites were read,
The "Nunc Dimittis" he chanted.
All next day, in the forest's shade,
In solitude, he watched and prayed.
And that evening, at the hour
When, in lands where Christians dwell,
From each old cathedral tower
Rings aloud the Vesper bell,
The aged Priest his way did wend
Toward the setting sun,
To where, at the Island's western end
The greater waves of rapids descend,
And the swifter currents run.
Adown the slope he made his way
'Mid bushes wet with driven spray,
Until he reached the rocky ledge,
Close to the Cataract's eastern edge.
While he stood there, in the blaze
Of the setting sun's departing rays,
The spray-cloud hovered low,
And, as it settled above his head,
Across it, in gorgeous colors spread,
Appeared the sign of the promise made
By God to man, as the Flood He stayed,
The evanescent Bow.
When the sun in splendor sank
Behind the fir trees tall,
Gazing toward the farther bank,
With a joy no pen can e'er describe,
He saw the Chief and warrior tribe
At the other end of the Fall.
The Chief, who saw him as he moved
From out the forest's shade,
And realized that again he'd proved
The truth of all he said,
Knelt, so the Priest might comprehend
That faith in his Spirit was at an end.
The warriors knelt beside their Chief,
Thus emphasizing their belief.
The Priest was there by God's own will,
A holy mission to fulfill.
His human voice, in that grand roar,
Could not have reached the other shore,
No matter how he had striven,
Yet he spake the Word,
Though it was not heard,
And he raised his hands,
As our God commands,
And lifted his eyes to Heaven;
Thus, in the way the Church decrees
To suppliants, tho' afar, on their knees,
Was the Benediction given.
The Priest was with emotion thrilled,
His mind with sacred thoughts instilled,
And, in imaginative mood,
Again in a holy Church he stood,
(It was three long years since he
Had stept within a Sacristy).
A wondrous Church it was, indeed,
By Nature's changeless laws decreed,
Tho' man reared not the structure fair,
All churchly attributes were there.
The gorge was the glorified Nave,
Whose floor was the emerald wave.
The mighty Fall
Was the Reredos tall,
The Altar, the pure white foam,
The azure sky,
So clear and high,
Was simply the vaulted Dome.
The column of spray,
On its upward way,
Was the smoke of Incense burned;
The Cataract's roar,
Now less, now more,
As it rose and fell,