Classic Poem

We sat beneath the wooden bridge
As in a sheltering tent,
And watched the water's emerald ridge
And marvelous white descent.

The schoolboys, ruddy-cheeked and fair,
Stood round in lightsome mood,
Nor saw the awful presence there,—
The spirit of the flood.

And yet on one of them, thought I,
Some deeper influence stole
To touch the slumbering chords that lie
Even in the childish soul.

And when, in later years, his ways
Beside these steeps shall be,
The wonder-joy his foot that stays
Shall seem half memory.

Oh, may some heavenly influence
Still to my soul be nigh
To blend the child's unconscious sense
With manhood's seeing eye!