THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR. UT and in the river is winding Through belts of dusky pine- And gusty leagues of plain. Only, at times, a smoke-wreath With the drifting cloud-rack joins,— Drearily blows the north wind From the land of ice and snow; The eyes that look are weary, And with one foot on the water, The Angel of Shadow gives warning Is it the clang of wild-geese? Is it the Indian's yell, That lends to the voice of the north wind The tones of a far-off bell? The voyageur smiles as he listens To the sound that grows apace; Well he knows the vesper ringing Of the bells of St. Boniface. The bells of the Roman Mission, To the boatmen on the river, Even so in our mortal journey And when the Angel of Shadow Happy is he who heareth The signal of his release HOME FOR THE WEARY. HERE is an hour of peaceful rest, To mourning wanderers given; There is a tear for souls distressed, A balm for every wounded breast: 'Tis found above-in heaven. There is a home for weary souls, There faith lifts up her cheerful eye And all serene-in heaven. |