She is loved with a love than cannot forget,
A passion so strong and true
That never a billow has risen yet
To peril the White Canoe.
So come when the moon is enthroned in the sky,
And the echoes are sweet and low,
And Nature is full of the mystery
That none but her children know.
Come, taste of the rest that the weary crave,
But is only revealed to a few: