CALM on the breast of Loch Maree

A little isle reposes; 

A shadow woven of the oak

And willow o'er it closes. 

Within, a Druid's mound is seen,

Set round with stony warders; 

A fountain gushing through the turf,

Flows o'er its grassy borders; 

And whoso bathes therein his brow

With care or madness burning, 

Feels once again his healthful thought

And sense of peace returning. 

O restless heart and fevered brain,

Unquiet and unstable, 

That holy well of Loch Maree

Is more than idle fable. 

Life's changes vex, its discords stun,

Its glaring sunshine blindeth, 

And blest is he who on his way

That fount of healing flndeth. 

The shadows of a humbled will

And contrite heart are o'er it; 

Go read its legend, "Trust in God,"

On Faith's white stones before it.