To know, to feel, to fully share The joys and sorrows of this life, Unites the souls of mated pair, And make the husband and the wife.

PONOMO and ALMETA there, Where juts of rocks 'neath hemlock boughs, Had breathed a mutual, fervent prayer, And each to each pledged sacred vows, When o'er the lake the war-whoop rang, And Kitchewonks, on every side, Swept down with shout and yell and clang, Upon PONOMO and his bride.

On north and south, and on the west, No way of flight then could they take, So from the rough rocks' rugged side They plunged into the central lake.

A hundred arrows cleft the air, But one alone had reached its mark.

PONOMO felt it roughly tear Its way into his faithful heart.

He shrieked and sank beneath the wave, ALMETA followed after him; Their bridal couch was watery grave, The war-whoop was their requiem.

The savage yell of victory Re-echoed then from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e, While every rock and every tree Seemed deeply tinged with human gore, For when the moon from heavenly throne Looked down and saw the ghastly deed, It veiled itself and feebly shone, As if in agony to plead That human souls might ever know That G.o.d himself cannot approve The hand that strikes avenging blow, The soul devoid fraternal love.

'Neath crystal waters of the lake, In silent, undisturbed repose, Where sounds of strife no slumbers break, Heedless alike of friends and foes, They slept the long, long sleep of death, Through centuries of rolling years, While o'er their forms the zephyrs' breath In playful eddyings oft appears.

Their race has faded from the sh.o.r.e And left few traces that they were; The war-whoop now resounds no more, They bowed before White Conqueror.

Full many a fathom 'neath the wave, Their forms have mouldered side by side, While shadowy hemlocks fringe the grave Of dark PONOMO and his bride.

The waters then were deeper made Which gave their spirits much unrest, The lake their agony betrayed And seemed on every side distressed.

One spring when Nature gaily dressed With charms that could the mind beguile, There rose upon the lake's fair breast A hibernating, floating isle.

Devoid of life it seemed at first, Chaotic, dull, with beauty none, But rays of sunshine on it burst And changed it to a paragon.

Two alders sprang from near its edge And twined in close embrace, While ferns and gra.s.s gave certain pledge That Time should give it smiling face.

But when the frosts of autumn fell It sank from sight, perchance to rest; No searching mind could ever tell The secret of its rising crest.

For years, at each returning spring, The isle would rise from 'neath the wave, As if to memory to bring PONOMO and ALMETA'S grave.

But when the harvest-moon shone bright, It meekly sank; as years before When on that dread, but fatal night, The faithful sank by rock-bound sh.o.r.e.

Its verdure grew, its alders spread, Its fame extended many a mile, 'Twas type of resurrected dead-- This hibernating, floating isle.

But vandal hands destroyed the prize And sank it 'neath a weight of stones, While ALMETA sends forth her sighs, And PONOMO emits his groans.

Here let them rest, if rest they may, Amid the beauteous scenes around, And wait in peace the final day, When at the angel's trumpet sound, The water shall give up its prey, The earth shall full surrender make, For heaven has not a type to-day, More perfect than this sky-blue lake.

FINIS.

After our labor is finished, After the struggle is done, A restful surcease awaits us At the setting of life's sun.

If when our toil seemed the sorest The heart refused to retreat From a grand and n.o.ble purpose, Till the vic'try was complete, Then shall joyous crown await us, Resplendent with jewels rare, And a radiance of honor The face shall benignly wear; Not that our works were all faultless And free from error and wrong, But because our sincere purpose Made us brave and true and strong.

Results of labor thus rendered, Are safely trusted to Heaven, For He who knows ev'ry motive, Understands _why_ we have striven.

If to man were given the balance To adjust with equity, His weakness and imperfection, His greed and his jealousy, Might sway the poise from adjustment, And his judgment go astray, Through the frailties of his nature-- Imperfect humanity

The Infallible in knowledge, Whose true balance never swerves, Knows every man's Gethsemane, And the merit he deserves.

He will not ask figs of the thorns; Of talents will not demand A greater increase than is just From a faithful steward's hand.

Feeling the weight of the mission Inc.u.mbent upon our care; Searching the heart's deep recesses That vice may not shelter there; Working courageously onward The truth and right to defend; And asking a perfect guidance, We calmly welcome the end.