HERE, at the change of ways, the steel steed halts,

The train stands still, and weary travellers gaze

On what appears to be a wilderness

Of barren rocks, grim, desolate, and stern.

"What place is this," they ask, "so bleak and bald?

Here surely are the bones of Earth laid bare;

The gaunt frame of this time-worn world!" Such words,

Contempt infused, are heard from jeering lips,

But the drear wayside maketh no reply.

Yet look! the train moves on; the funnel snorts,

And rocks fling echoes on the trembling air;

From the new point of sight the scoffer sees

Deep pools of water bosomed in the waste—

Calm ponds reflecting Heaven's own lovely blue,

With gray rocks, verdure-touched, around their brinks.