Classic Poem

Above the winding River's brink
The tall trees wave their branches green;
Their cool brown roots, washed bare and clean,
Reach down through cooler depths to drink.

" Behold, how heavenly is my task, "
Methinks the River murmurs low;
" As God bestoweth, I bestow;
To be like Him is all I ask. "

O River, thou and I are one
In sweet desire to serve and be;
Yet every day I grieve to see
How all my deeds do selfward run!