The waters of the Big Bear creek
Glide slowly on their way;
The western lakes they surely seek,
Which they will reach some day;
But sluggishly they seek their end--
They scarcely seem to move;
Yet through the fields and round each bend
Their progress daily prove.
By debris borne upon their breast,
And strewn along each shore,
They slowly move, but never rest,
Yet turbid evermore.
But when they reach the Johnson bend
And the Sni Chartna meet,
The turbid and the sky-blue blend--
The union is complete.
And soon is lost all trace of mud;
Of azure tint the whole;
With heaven's own hue the rolling flood
Has gained the long-sought goal.
So is it with the soul renewed
While on its heaven-bound way,
With grace divine it is embued,
Yet shows the trace of clay.
And though to rest it never halts,
Its progress is so slow;
Alas, it has too many faults,
Nor much of heavenly glow.
But when God's sanctifying grace
Shall meet it from above,
You seek in vain for sinful trace--
It now is full of love.
A new impulse it then receives
Which speeds it on its way;
To it no stain of sin now cleaves--
It seeks its perfect day.
And as the azure stream has found
Its home in brimming lake,
So shall the soul thus heavenward bound
Of God's own joy partake.