And now I find my song is only half complete,
As praising my subject affords me pleasure sweet,
So on its great beauty I must a moment dwell,
Or else my song will end ere I have sung it well.
How pretty thy waters when the south wind is high,
And white caps are breaking as the billows roll by,
And sailing vessels plow into the heavy seas,
As they scoot by swiftly before the driving breeze.
And small boats are flying on the top of the waves,
And the spray they dash high is ducking sailor braves,
And all things are lively in tune with the water,
And the ten mile steamer seems a twenty knotter.
When ruffled thy waters, to ride them is thrilling,
And quickens man’s spirits when the heart is willing,
The rich ozone one breathes brings a glow to the cheek,
Giving vim to the strong and vigor to the weak.
When placid thy bosom what a change then is there,
Not a ripple stirring, not a zephyr of air,
Then great is thy beauty, magnificent river,
Reminding man of God, the generous Giver.
Shining sometimes like glass, so transparent and clean,
At other times wearing a light tinge of dark green,
Tho the sun and the clouds give thy color a hue,
Thy color unfading is the pretty sky blue.
So pretty, so charming, and so apt to beguile,
The lover of nature is soon wooed by thy smile,
Enchanted by the view of the beautiful stream,
Man soliloquizes until lost in a dream.
Thy bright pretty waters are embellished by banks,
And rare must be the shores that their splendor outranks,
Sloping banks of beauty and sandy beaches low,
With steep bluffs and headlands, and points that sailors know.
Here the elm tree is grand in beauty and in size,
And the pretty maple grows in plenty likewise,
The oak and hickory are native to the land,
And help by their presence to make the forest grand.
Here the silver aspen turns white to ev’ry breeze,
And the laughing poplar babbles for all the trees,
The walnut and cherry, the butternut and plum,
The thorn and mulberry, yield fruit for all who come.