35
VOICES OF THE STORM.
Where sweeps the broad St. Lawrence
I stood one windy day,
Upon a rocky islet
That faced the open bay,
And watched the breakers leaping
In towers of snow-white spray.
Like some invading army
Upon the rocks they bore,
With clamor and confusion,
And vast tumultuous roar;
Their mists, like smoke of battle,
Rolled white along the shore.
Upon my brow in baptism
Cold, stinging drops were flung,
And in my ears, like music,
The storm's wild chant was rung—
The chorus of the waters,
That knew nor speech nor tongue.
