(For Music.)
Though Missouri's tide may majestic glide, There's a curse on the soil it laves;The Ohio, too, may be fair, but who Would sojourn in the land of slaves?Be my prouder lot a Canadian cot And the bread of a freeman's toils;Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand, And the Lake of the Thousand Isles!
I would seek no wealth, at the cost of health, 'Mid the city's din and strife;More I love the grace of fair nature's face, And the calm of a woodland life;I would shun the road by ambition trod, And the lore which the heart defiles;--Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand, And the Lake of the Thousand Isles!
O away, away! I would gladly stray Where the freedom I love is found;Where the pine and oak by the woodman's stroke Are disturbed in their ancient bound;Where the gladsome swain reaps the golden grain, And the trout from the stream beguiles;Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand, And the Lake of the Thousand Isles.
