WHERE in their Northern grandeur lie
Old Ocean's craggy shores, —
Where waves give back the glorious sky,
And lift unceasingly on high
Their deep, majestic symphony, —
An Eagle sunward soars!

Through upper air lies his flight's bold ring,
And its portal-guarders frown;
They throng with angry muttering,
Their rattling ice-shot round him fling,
But he shakes the small hail from his wing,
And royally soars on!

Yet a sterner, darker strife is nigh;
Wild storms come sweeping down;
Their thunders peal through the trembling sky,
Their red lights gleam on the quivering eye,
Small birds to their leafy coverts fly,
But the Eagle still soars on!

Gaze high! for, the thunder's realm o'erpast,
Now where warm glories spring,
Where no storm his way may overcast,
Outsoaring the lightning and the blast,
Lo, a golden cloud receives at last
The bird of the mighty wing!