In the rift of the rock Thou wilt cover me still,
When the glow of the sunset is low in the sky,
When the forms of the reapers are dim on the hill,
And the song dies away, and the end draweth nigh;
It will be but a dream of the ladder of light,
And heaven drawing near without terror or shock,
For the angels, descending by day and by night,
Will open a door through the rift of the rock.
_Annie Herbert._
* * * * *
THE SIOUX CHIEF'S DAUGHTER
Two gray hawks ride the rising blast;
Dark cloven clouds drive to and fro
By peaks pre-eminent in snow;
A sounding river rushes past,
So wild, so vortex-like, and vast.
A lone lodge tops the windy hill;
A tawny maiden, mute and still,
Stands waiting at the river's brink,
As weird and wild as you can think.
A mighty chief is at her feet;
She does not heed him wooing so--
She hears the dark, wild waters flow;
She waits her lover, tall and fleet,
From far gold fields of Idaho,
Beyond the beaming hills of snow.
He comes! The grim chief springs in air--
His brawny arm, his blade is bare.
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