‘Twas on a Sabbath morning,
From distant homes they strayed,
To see our old Niagara
In her mantle of white arrayed.
And with Jack Frost’s protection,
The tourists thought how grand
To be on the noted ice bridge
Anywhere to stand.
But the strength of Frost was feeble,
Compared with mighty force
Of the rushing undercurrent
Unchanging in its course.
For soon the ice was parted
And, alas! too quickly was seen
People on glassy islands
Floating down the stream.
And there was Mrs. Stanton
Just paralyzed with fear,
Saying to her husband
Let us die right here.
Near by a brave young laddie,
Who was running his life to save,
Heard the call: “Come back and help us
To escape a watery grave.”
And as he thus responded
To try and save another
He said to his companion:
“Don’t you tell my mother.”
But a message of mental telepathy
To that mother quickly flashed,
While ropes were dangling here and there
And the cruel waters splashed.
For she saw in a glass of water
Ice and people, too,
Rushing about confusedly,
Knowing not what to do.
Then she thought of the treacherous river,
That water so fierce and wild,
And exclaimed: “I have a presentiment
Something has happened to my child!”
Brave men worked hard to save
The two who still remained
On that block of ice much smaller
Than when it first was framed.
For, Oh, they were surrounded
By Niagara’s silvery crest,
Which none were allowed to step on:
Not even a noted guest.
Kneeling in prayer they were ushered,
The time was very brief,
Until the Whirlpool caught them
And gave them sweet relief.
Image and insert containing the poem by Jessie Clark courtesy of Niagara Falls Museums, accession number 2024.016.29. Many thanks to Assistant Curator Sara Byers for bringing this to my attention.
