Behold the rocky wall 
 That down its sloping sides 
 Pours the swift rain-drops, blending, as they fall, 
 In rushing river-tides! 
 Yon stream, whose sources run 
 Turned by a pebble's edge, 
 Is Athabasca, rolling toward the sun 
 Through the cleft mountain-ledge. 
 The slender rill had strayed, 
 But for the slanting stone, 
 To evening's ocean, with the tangled braid 
 Of foam-flecked Oregon. 

 So from the heights of Will 
 Life's parting stream descends, 
 And, as a moment turns its slender rill, 
 Each widening torrent bends, -- 

 From the same cradle's side, 
 From the same mother's knee, -- 
 One to long darkness and the frozen tide, 
 One to the Peaceful Sea!