Behold the rocky wall
That down its sloping sides
Pours the swift rain-drops, blending, as they fall,
In rushing river-tides!
Yon stream, whose sources run
Turned by a pebble’ s edge,
Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun
Through the cleft mountain-ledge.
The slender rill had strayed,
But for the slanting stone,
To evening’ s ocean, with the tangled braid
Of foam-flecked Oregon.
So from the heights of Will
Life’ s parting stream descends,
And, as a moment turns its slender rill,
Each widening torrent bends, —
From the same cradle’ s side,
From the same mother’ s knee, —
One to long darkness and the frozen tide,
One to the Peaceful Sea!