Poems (Freston)/Hudson's Tide

by Elizabeth Heléne Freston

HUDSON'S TIDE

The German's toast their castled Rhine,
France always names her Seine with pride
The Thames is still fair England's boast,
But we have beauteous Hudson's Tide.

I've wandered over many lands,
And watched their waters ebb and flow;
But never yet have found as fair
A river as the one I know.

I know each dimpling, sun-kissed wave,
I know her restless, throbbing heart,
Her frowns and smiles, her angry rage,
The fish that through her waters dart.

I love them all! Her deep green hills,
Her rugged rocks, her nestling towns,
The laughter of her rushing rills,—
The darkness of her gloomy frowns.

The Bay of Naples' tender blue,
The sombre brown of Thames' dull tide,
The green that lurks in ocean's hue,—
They all are here and more beside.

When sunbeams flash their parting light,
My river runs a molten gold;
Beneath the cold moon's softer light,
A silvery sheen her wavelets hold.

When morning greets the waiting world,
With blessings from the smile of God,
She's robed in amethyst and rose,—
A path where angels' feet have trod.

And when the twilight shadows come,
A soft sweet nun, in raiment gray,
She seems, demure, serene, with all
Her gayer garments laid away.

Her storied hills smile on my sight,
And Valor calls from every vale;
A voice comes from her waters bright,
And love-words echo on each gale.

My heart shall feel her beauty still,
Though I may wander far and wide;
Methinks I'll sleep more peacefully,
If left to rest by Hudson's Tide.