White Sand

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Blue waves lap on the long low shore, And the dark clouds cast their quivering shade;The dancing launch leaps lightly before The heaving swell that the wind hath made;And over the rushes bending green, Reaching outward across the strandWe look to the beach so white and clean. And are welcomed in on the silvery sand.

The nodding poplars stretch beyond, And the long hay-meadows skirt their edge,The white spume falls in the grass-girt pond. And the boats lie rocking among the sedge;A straggling spruce tree here and there Looks over meadow or broken land.O, sweet is Nature and wondrous fair By Cooking Lake at the beach, 'White Sand."

Now over it all the sun breaks forth, The dark cloud-shadows have passed away.Blue little lake of our own lov'd North, We picture you bright on the sunniest day,For peaceful you lie like a soul at rest, And brightly you mirror each scene so grand.This is the time that we love you best, And our thoughts drift back to the camp, 'White Sand."

For we have been lonely and sad at heart, And we have had welcome from friends right true;The clouds that were blackest have riven apart, And given a glimpse of Heaven's blue.Oh, we have been cheered in a lonely hour By a kindly word and the clasp of a hand,And this we have known with strengthening power No farther away than the beach, "White Sand."

Summer cottage and white-walled tent, Wide verandahs and boat house low--Idle days that were pleasantly spent-- They will soon be lost in the long ago.But over all when the years have flown And sights we have seen that are rich and grand,Our hearts will cherish a scene well known, Cooking Lake and the long white sand.

© Anderson Robert Thompson