And it was small wonder that to the river the poet sang:
“Sing soft, sing low, our lowland river,
Under thy banks of laurel bloom;
Softly and sweet as the hour beseemeth,
Sing us the songs of peace and home.
“Type of the Northland’s strength and glory,
Pride and hope of our home and race,—
Freedom lending to rugged labor
Tints of beauty and lines of grace.
“For though by the Master’s feet untrodden,