"God! thus to Thee my lowly thoughts can soar,
Thus seek thy presence, Being wise and good,
'Midst Thy vast works, admire, obey, adore;
And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude."

The tears were indeed standing in her eyes, as she turned and placed
her hand in that of Bernard.

"You must think it strange," she said, "that I, to whom all this is no
novelty should be thus affected. It is a weakness from which I shall
never recover."

"Not weakness, dear Faith," said Bernard, "but the impressibility of a
poetical temperament. Only an insensible heart could be unmoved."

"If these rocks could speak, what legends they might tell of vanished
races," said Faith. "There is something inexpressibly sad in the fate
of those who once were the masters of these woods and fields, and
streams.

"They but submit to the common fate, which compels the inferior to
make way for the superior race, as my father says."

"How beautiful," she continued, "must this goodly land have seemed to
the Indian hunter, when, after the day's chase, he dropped the deer
upon the ground, and, from this high point, looked over the green
forests and shining stream. I should not wonder, if now, in the voice
of the cataract, he fancies he hears the groans of his ancestors, and