A SONG OF THE RIVER OF LIFE
“There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God.”
Psalm XIVI, v4
I stood by the brink of the silver Maine
When the worn-out year was dying,
And my heart grew faint with a sudden pain
As I watched the wavelets flying.
For thoughts of the past through my brain flew fast,
Like the curlews sadly crying,
When they wing their flight, in the darksome night,
And keep on and on replying.
I thought of high plans I had seen swept down
In the hour of glad applying
As the driftwood light, by the flood’s wild might,
When it startles the sedges sighing.
I thought of lost friends I should ne’er regain:
Of hopes ‘neath the cold clods lying:
And I shed, by the Maine, salt tears like rain,
And prayed for the boon of dying.
Poor fool! even then from the western sky,
With its red streaks prophesying,
Came a bright, broad gleam, to the darkling stream,
Its gold with the grey allying.
And the torrent fierce in my heart and brain
From that glory – gloom defying
Caught a glimmering ray, in some strange, sweet way,
Of a Father, light supplying.
And the ray waxed strong, and the glimmer grew,
As I watched the wavelets hieing;
Till I turned me home with a hope full grawn,
And a heart on God relying.
Ballymena Observer 11th February 1888