St. Peter’s Bay2 P.E. Island

Little waves flecked with foam kissing sand-drifts That blush red with wantoning glee;

Far away sounds the boom of the ocean;

A gray gull wings in from the sea.

From fields on hills gazing seaward

Comes the fragrance of clover and musk; On a breeze comes the laughter of children Playing games in a garden at dusk.

Through a twilight silvering to moon—mist

I hear herds lowing far, far away,

Then silence — I am alone with my memories, And the charms of St. Peters Bay.

The waves and the sands and the sea plaint Are the same as in life’s yesteryears, I have known life’s Gethsemane of tears.

I am back to the scenes of life’s morning. Where I dreamed all the dreams of youths day; The old haunts seem fain to caress me

Wisted they as the years roll away?

The old wharf is silent and moldering A wreck that the tide rocks and dips, Waiting vainly in tears for the sea men Who went down to the Bay in ships.

The bridge with its arch spans the stream As it did twenty—two years ago;

The bruised feet are still crossing over, The prime then now feeble and slow.

The church crowning yon bonnie hill Knows no change, like the God it enshrines; And the dead where they rest in its shadow Dear God, how they sleep there in lines!

How the acre of God has grown larger! It has taken the ones I loved best; Earth, you enfold the fairest and rarest, ‘Tis well that you give them sweet rest.