On the Rapids of the St. Lawrence

The gurgling waters foam and play,
And whirl and dash the live-long day
In jets of spray.
They roll and dance, and laugh and sing,
They are forever on the wing,
A restless thing!

What tale of pathos do they tell,
As onward they tumultuous swell, —
Is it a knell,
A lay of love, or joy or woe,
Enacted in the long ago?
We cannot know!

The emerald waters rage and boil,
And madly whirl in wild turmoil,
Unending toil
Is theirs: they hint of strange unrest,
The foamy waves upon their breast
Seem sore distrest.

They leap and toss their mad caps high,
They rave and plunge and sadly sigh;
Yet to the sky
Their weird antiphonies ascend,
And with celestial anthems blend,
As up they wend.