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234
J. R.
Softly the bush-swathed shore arose in backward sloping hills,
Whose swarthy sides hid rushing streams or bent to rippling rills.
Softly those serried bluffs disclosed deep valleys winding far,
'Mid gloom of tufted woodland, or stern frown of naked scar.
Softly the mottled heights upsprung in ever-rising tiers,
Whose rifted marge far westward seen in distance disappears.
Well might those simple-hearted men, as towards the coast they drew,
With pious unction bless the land thus bursting on their view.
Well might they say that surely 'twas God's purpose true and kind,
That they upon great Jesu's Day this brave new land should find.
J. R.
