pling 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 gratitude, 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 God due recompense will give."

LIX.

Rush on, ye waters, with your message fraught
Of constant love and care of God; 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 space.

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, o