THE RIVER.
FAR up on the mountain the river begins,—
I saw it, a thread in the sun.
Then it grew to a brook, and through dell and through nook
It dimpled and danced in its fun.
A ribbon of silver, it sparkled along
Over meadows be-sprinkled with gold;
With a twist and a twirl, and a loop and a curl
Through the pastures the rivulet rolled.
Then on to the valleys it leaped and it laughed,
Till it stronger and stiller became;
On its banks the tall trees rocked their boughs in the breeze,
And the lilies were tapers aflame.
The children threw pebbles and shouted with glee,
At the circles they made in the stream,
And the, white fisher boat, sent so lightly afloat,
Drifted off like a sail in a dream.
Deep-hearted, the mirth of its baby life past,
It toiled for the grinding of corn;
It's shores heard the beat of the lumberman's feet,
His raft on its current was borne.
At inlet and cove where its harbors were fair,
Vast cities arose in their pride,
And the wealth of their streets came from beautiful fleets,
Forth launched on its wandering tide.
The glorious river swept on to the sea,
The sea that engirdles the land;
But I saw it begin in a thread I could spin,
Like a cobweb of silk, in my hand.
And I thought of the river that flows from the throne;
Of the love that is deathless and free;
Of the grace of his peace that shall ever increase,
Christ-given to you and to me.
—Margaret E. Sangster
