THE WATERFALL

BEN. HAWORTH-BOOTH.

My song among the hills I sing forever,
My liquid lute I pipe the livelong day,
In melancholy mood or glad endeavor,
A doleful dirge or rhythmic roundelay.
Who may interpret me? who may disclose
The riddle of the rock-gift fountain-glade,
The mystic cryptogram that no man knows,
The message of the mountain-born cascade?
My wreathed wraith, of shepherd's eye beholden,
Flits o'er the fell, a phantom of the spheres,
By rainbow belt or moon's white are enfolden,
Then fades away in fancy, and in tears.
I know the ocean deep, the floating cloud,
The low'ring tempest, and the lisping rain:
With me the thunder's voice has raved aloud,
And hushed in consciousness of Truth again.
I knew the flood of Nöe, and I fell
Before his day upon the youthful earth,
To touch the tender lips of asphodel,
And give to lotus buds celestial birth.
I hold the starlight in my cold embrace;
The wind to me a sister's secret brings—
From far Euphrates See Science and Health, p. 585, line 16 . —of the coming grace,
Of happier hearts, and holier thoughts and things.
A type of cleansing, and a saving fount,
A well of healing waters, calm and deep,
I flow forever from the eternal mount,
Washing the tears away of them that weep.
Mine is a garb of purity and splendor,
The warp of sunbeam, and the woof of song,
Of tones ideal, silver-tongued, and tender,
Falling to earth, though they to heaven belong:
"Ho, every one that thirsteth"—Have ye heard
The harper's voice, the soft appealing call,
"Come to the waters"? 'Tis the sacred word,
And 'tis the murmur of the mountain fall.
Come, like the Syrian from the courts of pride,
Come to the crystal and abounding river:
And cleanse your leprous limbs in Jordan's tide,
The fountain-head of grace that flows forever.
Look to the source of loveliness and power;
Come to Siloam; let my message be
To bounden hearts and hands this gracious hour,
"Take of the living waters, and be free."

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