THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR. OUT and in the river is winding Only, at times, a smoke-wreath Drearily blows the north wind From the land of ice and snow; And with one foot on the water, That day shall be no more. Is it the clang of wild-geese? That lends to the voice of the north wind The voyageur smiles as he listens The bells of the Roman Mission, To the boatman on the river, To the hunter on the plain! KENOZA LAKE. Even so in our mortal journey Our hearts, as oarsmen, row. And when the Angel of Shadow Happy is he who heareth KENOZA LAKE. As Adam did in Paradise, To-day the primal right we claim : Fair mirror of the woods and skies, We give to thee a name. Lake of the pickerel !-let no more The echoes answer back "Great Pond," But sweet Kenoza, from thy shore And watching hills beyond, Let Indian ghosts, if such there be The shores we trod as barefoot boys, To friendship, love, and social joys We consecrate anew. 381 Here shall the tender song be sung, Harmless as summer lightning plays In sunny South and prairied West Are exiled hearts remembering still, As bees their hive, as birds their nest, The homes of Haverhill. They join us in our rites to-day; The echoes of our song. Kenoza! o'er no sweeter lake Shall morning break or noon-cloud sail,No fairer face than thine shall take The sunset's golden veil. Long be it ere the tide of trade Shall break with harsh-resounding din The quiet of thy banks of shade, Still let thy woodlands hide the hare, Thy peace rebuke our feverish stir, TO G. B. C... And sinless Mirth, from care released, And when the summer day grows dim, 383 TO G. B. C. So spake Esaias: so, in words of flame, The sacerdotal robbers of the poor. All the dread Scripture lives for thee again, Bends with the shafts of God a bow new-strung! Take up the mantle which the prophets wore; Warn with their warnings,-show the Christ once more Bound, scourged, and crucified in his blameless poor; And shake above our land The unquenched bolts that blazed in Hosea's hand! Not vainly shalt thou cast upon our years Than Seckingen's mailed arm or Hutton's sword! THE SISTERS. A PICTURE BY BARRY. THE shade for me, but over thee So come to me, my little one,- But keep the smile upon thy lip, Since for the dear one God hath called We have an angel now. Our mother from the fields of heaven Shall still her ear incline; Nor need we fear her human love The songs are sweet they sing beneath But sweetest of the songs of heaven Then, darling, rest upon my breast, |