Peter A. Porter

“ Again, amongst the trees he knelt,
Expressive of the joy he felt.
In worship, loud, his voice he raised,
His tones through the forest rang,
As the ever-living God he praised,
And the "Jubilate" sang.
The twilight passed, but the aged Priest
From his adorations had not ceased;
The darkness came, but his only thought
Was praise of Him whose word he taught;
The moon arose, and found him there,
Still in the attitude of prayer.
But when in the Heavens, high and clear
She stood, and midnight's hour was near,
He rose and went to the rocky beach,
Where alone the Island one may reach. ”

“ So the bark might ride on even keel,
Then pushed it out on the tide.
Swiftly it darted from the land,
Propelled by strong and fearless hand,
Over the dangerous current flies,
As the Chief the paddle rapidly plies,
Until, the wildest portion crossed,
The frail canoe is no longer tossed
By curling waves, but floats, awhile,
On the quiet stream above the Isle,
Towards whose beach it slowly glides
For weal or woe, as its voyage betides.
The Priest stood up, above his head
The holy Cross he raised,
And the words of the "Misereri" said
As heavenwards he gazed. ”