The Song of the Exile-A Canadian Epic Part 13

Above the Falls the rus.h.i.+ng rapids rage, In awesome grandeur only less than they.

Thus have they madly tossed from age to age, And thus have galloped on their heedless way.

In ceaseless ferment, and in constant change, Wide o'er their rocky area they range.

LIV.

Now foaming whitely, now in rippling waves Unbroken, haste they onward to their fate; Each speeding hurriedly as though it craves An early death. So reckless is the rate Which some pursue, that, with a sudden shock, They burst in foam-clouds on a hidden rock.

LV.

Rush on, ye mighty waters, and declare To self-conceited man his littleness; Rush on, and give your music to the air, And calm our thoughts and make our sorrows less; For as a friend by words of sympathy Can soothe us, by your music so can ye.

LVI.

For in your music we can hear the voice Of Him whose hand hath made both ye and us, And we, in deepest grat.i.tude, rejoice, And thank Him who has made ye so. And thus, While listening to your music-roar to-day, I seem to hear the Spirit speak and say:

LVII.

"As constant roll these waters o'er the steep, So ceaselessly thy Father watcheth thee; As day and night they run, and never sleep, So worketh He throughout eternity; And as their volume's measure is unknown, So boundless is His love towards His own.

LVIII.

"Then fear not, troubled soul, nor seek to know What destiny has been prepared for thee.

Thou seest these mighty waters onward flow, Conforming thus to all their Lord's decree-- Then live thou as thy conscience bids thee live, And know that G.o.d due recompense will give."

LIX.

Rush on, ye waters, with your message fraught Of constant love and care of G.o.d; rush on Through lake and ocean, until ye have brought Your message to the One whose love has shone Through darkness on my life; and bear from me A message, too, of love and constancy.

Though far I roam from thee, My fondest Love, my thought To theeward constantly By love's dear bond is brought.

Whate'er I hear or see, If not thy voice or face, Has interest for me For but a little s.p.a.ce.

And, whatso'er befall, It little recks to me, If it be not a call, To summon me to thee.

My widowed spirit cries Aloud for her twin-soul; My heart in sorrow lies, And needs thee to console.

Thus all my being faints, And for thy presence pants; In sorrowful complaints It mourns our severance.

Then, dearest one, think not That we shall never be United--such a lot Is not for thee and me.

And when at last we meet, (As is our destiny), In commune pure and sweet We'll live eternally.

CANTO THE FIFTH.

I.

Around, both far and wide, on every hand The prairie all environs me; I see Nought save a stretch of green and treeless land, Conspicuous alone for nudity: A sea of earth, a boundless stretch unspanned Except by Heaven's broad horizon-band.

II.

The very vastness of its sameness lends A fascination which it else had not; And here my sense of solitude transcends What I have felt on any other spot: Of solitude, yet not of loneliness, For G.o.d seems present, and His distance less.

III.

The sea alone of Nature's works can vie With this in solitude. None else can be Compared to it. Here 'neath his Maker's eye The creature seems to stand more openly Than elsewhere. Here his very solitude Makes man appear by G.o.d more nearly viewed.

IV.

Yet is not here G.o.d's awfulness displayed; His kindliness and mercy more appear; For flow'rs, the precious emblems He has made Of graciousness, in plenitude are here.

In rich profusion blooming unconfined, They seem to whisper softly: "G.o.d is kind."

V.

Yet break they not the solitude; nor can The works of Nature break the solitude.

Man needs the presence of his fellow-man, And ever needs it, whatsoe'er his mood; Except when, in the hour he calls his own, He holds communion with his G.o.d alone.

VI.

How vast this solitude! And yet 'tmay be That, ere a decade's course is fully run, This prairie, where no being I can see Inhabiting, may be well built upon; And even on this lonely stretch of ground Surrounding me, a city may be found.

VII.

So rapidly have risen in the past The cities in this Western land, that well May we expect that not at all less fast Shall future cities rise. And here may dwell A population, whose increasing rate Shall rival cities of an older date.

VIII.

I once had thought that I would choose to live Upon the prairie-land. My youthful eyes Raised here a mighty castle, which should give A home to me and mine. To youth there lies A fascination in the great Unknown, Which some in old age have not yet outgrown.