Afar and near, afar and wide,

The murm’ring chant of a running stream,

Across the rocks to the brimming tide

Of the shining sea, its waters gleam.

Low in the beeches, hid from sight,

A robin is singing a song so sweet,

Its rapturous melody seems a flight

Of song from Heaven’s own azure deep.

O fateful river, now gleaming, now dark,

Like my checkered life of shadow and sun,

But always through it the song of my heart

Like the robin’s vesper, to God is sung.

But ever the river rolls along

With manifold crews of human souls;

And ever, the robin’s clear, sweet song

Is heard afar as the river rolls.

—Amanda M. E. Booth.