62 PEARLS AND PEBBLES. 



Nature lifts loud to Thee her happy voice, . 



And calls her caverns to resound Thy praise ; 



Thy name is heard amid her pathless ways, 

 And e'en her senseless things in Thee rejoice. 

 O God ! what homage shall he pour to Thee, 

 Whom Thou hast stamped with immortality ! " 



— Jane JRoscoe. 



This is a sweet, quiet spot. The river, the bright, 

 rapid Otonabee —the Indian word for " flashing water 

 running fast " — lies at the foot of the grassy slope and 

 open grove of forest trees which divide my garden from 

 its shores. From the opposite bank the village cottages, 

 church spires and busy factory cast their shadows on 

 the stream. 



There is a murmur of wheels and rushing rapids 

 from below the mill-dam, blended and softened to one 

 harmonious monotone, ever singing the same tuneless 

 song which soothes and never wearies on the ear. 



'Tis pleasant to rest here in the sunshine and take in 

 the quiet surroundings of the spot. I had nearly fallen 

 asleep this warm morning, when I was roused by the 

 joyous carolling of the wrens on the lattice of the 

 veranda. 



The mother bird is sitting, and her faithful mate 

 comes to cheer his little wife with gay songs. He does 

 not seem to heed me ; he knows by experience that I 

 am an old friend. 



I have often thought that before sin marred the 

 harmony of Nature the birds and animals were not 



