With their starry tapers bright,
With dim clouds of fragrant incense,
Fair young choristers in white,
And the dying gleam of day-light,
With its blushing crimson glow,
Streaming through the lofty casement
On the kneeling crowd below.

Tis an hour of golden promise
For the hearts that secret burn
With contrite and anxious wishes
To the Father to return;
For a Saviour, full of mercy,
On His altar-throne is there,
Waiting but that they should ask Him,
For response to whispered prayer.




THE WHITE CANOE.

A LEGEND OF NIAGARA FALLS.


In days long gone by it was the custom of the Indian warriors of
the forest to assemble at the Great Cataract and offer a human
sacrifice to the Spirit of the Falls. The offering consisted of a
white canoe, full of ripe fruits and blooming flowers, which was
paddled over the terrible cliff by the fairest girl of the tribe.