STANZAS.

Mark you, the stream of the cataract pouring, Its wild wave o’er the rock! Hear its rude sound, upon loud echo roaring; Earth shakes beneath its shock. Bright in the vale is its silver stream gliding; Softly it murmurs along, Sweet peace on its margent presiding, Steals the soul with her song. Mark you the wave of the rough ocean foaming! While the sky is in gloom; Death, o’er the breast of the mighty deep roaming, Gives the poor mariner’s doom. Riding relentless the pinions of æther! He aims the lightnings dart; Swells the faint cry of the desolate sailor, Sees his spirit depart. Calm is the breast of the tempest-toss’d ocean; Hush’d is the thunder’s sound; Still is the fierce elemental commotion; Soft sigh the zephyrs round; O’er the glad scene, in its radiance appearing, The rainbow’s hues are seen; The sun from the clouds misty canopy peering, Gilds the tranquil scene. So o’er the ocean of life as we’re sailing, Wild waves our peace annoy; Seeming, each blast of the tempest prevailing, Hope in our breast to destroy; The calm of tranquility, softly returning, Quells the storms of the breast; The rainbow of hope, in our bosom still burning, Points to eternal rest.