The rising world of waters dark and deep.

The rising world of waters dark and deep.

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view.
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How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view.
. . . .
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.

'Tis rushing now adown the spout,
And gushing out below,
Half frantic in its joyousness,
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'Tis rushing now adown the spout,
And gushing out below,
Half frantic in its joyousness,
And wild in eager flow.
The earth is dried and parched with heat,
And it hath long'd to be
Released from out the selfish cloud,
To cool the thirsty tree.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my read more

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
The brightest that beauty or revelry sips.

It is the calm and silent water that drowns a man.

It is the calm and silent water that drowns a man.

The deeper the waters are, the more still they run.

The deeper the waters are, the more still they run.

In an age when man has forgotten his origins and is blind even to his most essential needs for survival, read more

In an age when man has forgotten his origins and is blind even to his most essential needs for survival, water along with other resources has become the victim of his indifference

Enough shovels of earth -- a mountain. Enough pails of water -- a river.

Enough shovels of earth -- a mountain. Enough pails of water -- a river.

I have drunk deep of the waters of my ancestors.

I have drunk deep of the waters of my ancestors.