As Israel, in days of old, <br />Beneath the prophet's rod, <br />Amid the waters, backward rolled, <br />A path triumphant trod; <br />So, while thy lifted staff appears, <br />Her pilgrim steps to guide, <br />The Autumn journeys on, nor fears <br />The Winter's threatening tide.<br /><br />John Bannister Tabb<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/golden-rod/
