Calm ponds reflecting Heaven's own lovely blue,
With gray rocks, verdure-touched, around their brinks.
HALIFAX
FACING the ocean, guardian of our land,
Thy frowning forts and ramparts front the foam
Whose waves still ceaseless chafe the rocky strand,
While salt winds waft sea-odors o'er our home.
All the round year the tramp of armed men,
Crisp bugle call, the guns at noon and night,