CAPTAIN ARCHIE MORRISON.

To the Memory of Mrs. Hon. Justin R. Whiting, a brilliant woman. May 22nd, 1900.

First among the first, leader of leaders,In the front ranks of life she found her place;A student of books, at home with readers,In household duties well up in the race.In social life a bright ornament,Pleasant and cheerful, quick witted and wise,Graceful in manners, not prone to dissent,Respecting custom and family ties.Sincere in religion, true to her church,A Christian by rule, a Christian at heart,Liberal, diligent, full of research,Ever and always found acting her part.Active and foremost in charity’s work,Helping the poor, her heart full of pity,From mercy’s appeals she never would shirk,Nor stay her hands at bounds of the city.Grand was her example in cheerfulness,Courteous alike to the proud and humble,Casting off sunbeams of sweet loveliness,Honoring a name time will not crumble.Kind as a neighbor and true as a friend,Strong hearted and brave when sorrow prevailed,Ready to assist and willing to lend,And quick with relief when sickness assailed.Devoted and kind, a dutiful wife,Ready to labor and ready to share,With her good husband the burdens of life,And lighten his load of worry and care.In his ambitions helping with good will,To grand achievements of honor and fame,Working with courage, genius and skill,To raise and uphold the family name.But as a mother her best work was done,She gave her children the tenderest love,And taught them the way their lives must be run,To reach a haven in the realms above.Each childish sorrow appealed to her heart,And sweet soothing words soon washed it away,In her children’s plans she took active part,And led them wisely in study and play.Great their affliction, deep is their sorrow,But slowly and surely time will it heal,Love is a blessing they cannot borrow,We will not ask them to tell how they feel.

First among the first, leader of leaders,In the front ranks of life she found her place;A student of books, at home with readers,In household duties well up in the race.

In social life a bright ornament,Pleasant and cheerful, quick witted and wise,Graceful in manners, not prone to dissent,Respecting custom and family ties.

Sincere in religion, true to her church,A Christian by rule, a Christian at heart,Liberal, diligent, full of research,Ever and always found acting her part.

Active and foremost in charity’s work,Helping the poor, her heart full of pity,From mercy’s appeals she never would shirk,Nor stay her hands at bounds of the city.

Grand was her example in cheerfulness,Courteous alike to the proud and humble,Casting off sunbeams of sweet loveliness,Honoring a name time will not crumble.

Kind as a neighbor and true as a friend,Strong hearted and brave when sorrow prevailed,Ready to assist and willing to lend,And quick with relief when sickness assailed.

Devoted and kind, a dutiful wife,Ready to labor and ready to share,With her good husband the burdens of life,And lighten his load of worry and care.

In his ambitions helping with good will,To grand achievements of honor and fame,Working with courage, genius and skill,To raise and uphold the family name.

But as a mother her best work was done,She gave her children the tenderest love,And taught them the way their lives must be run,To reach a haven in the realms above.

Each childish sorrow appealed to her heart,And sweet soothing words soon washed it away,In her children’s plans she took active part,And led them wisely in study and play.

Great their affliction, deep is their sorrow,But slowly and surely time will it heal,Love is a blessing they cannot borrow,We will not ask them to tell how they feel.

On the 31st day of May, 1900, a bolt of lightning struck one of the spars on a new steamer nearly finished, but still on the stocks, at St. Clair, Michigan, and instantly killed three men, of whom Archie Morrison was one. Mr. Morrison was a good man. I knew him well, and wrote the following testimonial to his character, to comfort his family and friends.

Come, death, in a flash from the sky!Come in the lightning’s stroke!Our Archie was prepared to die,He well had worn his yoke.No notice, or threat was needed,He lived in peace with God,The golden rule he had heeded,And virtue’s path had trod.He had no forgiveness to ask,He did not give offense,No person could bring him to task,He needed no defense.True as a magnet to the pole,He did what conscience said,He took the advice of his soul,And followed where it led.With carefulness he steered his ship,To a port of safety,And well may those who make the trip,Follow pilot Archie.For him no pity need be sought,His sorrows are all past,His noble character he broughtSafe to heaven at last.But there are those who deeply mourn,His wife and children weep,Their greatest grief must now be borne,Their hearts are wounded deep.That sudden, cruel, bolt came down,And blasted all their hope,But they have many friends in town,Who’ll with their trouble cope.Rally, good friends, to their relief,And all take active part,Wash out all color of their grief,And mend each broken heart.

Come, death, in a flash from the sky!Come in the lightning’s stroke!Our Archie was prepared to die,He well had worn his yoke.

No notice, or threat was needed,He lived in peace with God,The golden rule he had heeded,And virtue’s path had trod.

He had no forgiveness to ask,He did not give offense,No person could bring him to task,He needed no defense.

True as a magnet to the pole,He did what conscience said,He took the advice of his soul,And followed where it led.

With carefulness he steered his ship,To a port of safety,And well may those who make the trip,Follow pilot Archie.

For him no pity need be sought,His sorrows are all past,His noble character he broughtSafe to heaven at last.

But there are those who deeply mourn,His wife and children weep,Their greatest grief must now be borne,Their hearts are wounded deep.

That sudden, cruel, bolt came down,And blasted all their hope,But they have many friends in town,Who’ll with their trouble cope.

Rally, good friends, to their relief,And all take active part,Wash out all color of their grief,And mend each broken heart.

Over the mountain top,And thru the valley deep,Waving the farmer’s crop,Lulling the birds to sleep.Over the ocean wide,Making the billows roll,Without a compass guide,Sweeping from pole to pole.Over the tops of trees,The giant redwood’s crown,And where the gentle breezeScatters the thistle down.Over the steeples high,Swinging the weather vane,In seasons wet, or dry,In sunshine and in rain.Over the clouds of snow,Wafting the aeronaut,Where birds do never go,In skies with danger fraught.Over the salty sea,Driving the noble ship,Laden with silk and tea,Upon her homeward trip.Over the desert plainIn Afric’s sunny land,Carrying in its trainGreat clouds of burning sand.Over our heads so mildWe scarcely feel its breath,Or in a tempest wildStrewing its path with death.Over the mighty west,Where roused by maddened ire,It bears upon its crestAn awful prairie fire.Over the stormy sky,Where currents meet and clash,And make the lightning fly.With sudden dart and flash.Over the ocean shore,Tossing the waves in spray,And in the thunder’s roarHeard many miles away.Over the tinted cloud,Under the shining sun,Ruling over the proud,Since life was first begun.Over the busy town,Bearing away the smoke,To where it settles downAmong the country folk.Over the garden wall,Where pretty flowers bloom,From early spring till fall,Shedding their sweet perfume.Over the human raceAnd ev’ry form of life,Upon the earth’s broad face,Living in love or strife.Over the rich man’s tracks,In highland and moor,And whistling thru the cracks,In homes of starving poor.Over the happy crowd,Feasting on pleasures sweet,Near humble voices loud,Praying for food to eat.Over the good and wise,And Christ-like loving soul;Striving to win the prizeOf peace, in heaven’s goal.Over our country grand,Waving the flag of peace,Ruled by a Mighty HandWhose love will never cease.Over all things we see,And ev’ry place we know,Upon the land or sea,Is where the winds do blow.

Over the mountain top,And thru the valley deep,Waving the farmer’s crop,Lulling the birds to sleep.

Over the ocean wide,Making the billows roll,Without a compass guide,Sweeping from pole to pole.

Over the tops of trees,The giant redwood’s crown,And where the gentle breezeScatters the thistle down.

Over the steeples high,Swinging the weather vane,In seasons wet, or dry,In sunshine and in rain.

Over the clouds of snow,Wafting the aeronaut,Where birds do never go,In skies with danger fraught.

Over the salty sea,Driving the noble ship,Laden with silk and tea,Upon her homeward trip.

Over the desert plainIn Afric’s sunny land,Carrying in its trainGreat clouds of burning sand.

Over our heads so mildWe scarcely feel its breath,Or in a tempest wildStrewing its path with death.

Over the mighty west,Where roused by maddened ire,It bears upon its crestAn awful prairie fire.

Over the stormy sky,Where currents meet and clash,And make the lightning fly.With sudden dart and flash.

Over the ocean shore,Tossing the waves in spray,And in the thunder’s roarHeard many miles away.

Over the tinted cloud,Under the shining sun,Ruling over the proud,Since life was first begun.

Over the busy town,Bearing away the smoke,To where it settles downAmong the country folk.

Over the garden wall,Where pretty flowers bloom,From early spring till fall,Shedding their sweet perfume.

Over the human raceAnd ev’ry form of life,Upon the earth’s broad face,Living in love or strife.

Over the rich man’s tracks,In highland and moor,And whistling thru the cracks,In homes of starving poor.

Over the happy crowd,Feasting on pleasures sweet,Near humble voices loud,Praying for food to eat.

Over the good and wise,And Christ-like loving soul;Striving to win the prizeOf peace, in heaven’s goal.

Over our country grand,Waving the flag of peace,Ruled by a Mighty HandWhose love will never cease.

Over all things we see,And ev’ry place we know,Upon the land or sea,Is where the winds do blow.

Written 1855.

O glorious lake, thy waters tell,A divine hand hath made thee well;Thy stores of health,And mines of wealth,Are wondrous works of nature, too;Thy granite rocks and mounds of sand,And mountain shores of richest land,All with reverence bow to you.O beauteous lake, thy gorgeous size,To us doth prove that God is wise,Thy copper, aye more,Thy iron ore,Is the best found in all the earth;Thy waters flow thru one river,And enrich thy shores of silver;So great art thou, none know thy worth.O richest lake, thy wondrous beauty,Makes praise to God become our duty,Thy waters clear,And pure atmosphere,Strengthen many an invalid;Thou givest wealth to man his portion,Then ebb and flow just like an ocean,We rejoice, great sea, thy wealth’s not hid.

O beauteous lake, thy gorgeous size,To us doth prove that God is wise,Thy copper, aye more,Thy iron ore,Is the best found in all the earth;Thy waters flow thru one river,And enrich thy shores of silver;So great art thou, none know thy worth.

O richest lake, thy wondrous beauty,Makes praise to God become our duty,Thy waters clear,And pure atmosphere,Strengthen many an invalid;Thou givest wealth to man his portion,Then ebb and flow just like an ocean,We rejoice, great sea, thy wealth’s not hid.

A few miles west of Hamilton, Ontario, is one of the most beautiful sections of country it has ever been my pleasure to see. The Grand Trunk Railway cars run along the side of Dundas Mountain for several miles, and the view of the valley from the cars is magnificent. In passing over this route in the summer of 1892 I was charmed by the view and inspired to write the following little poem.

Hills above hills in beauty rise,And mark their outline on the skies,And close inspection shows that manIs helping on the mighty plan.Here valleys deep, and valleys wide,And gushing streams from mountain side,Present, o’ercapped by dome of blue,A splendid panoramic view.

Hills above hills in beauty rise,And mark their outline on the skies,And close inspection shows that manIs helping on the mighty plan.

Here valleys deep, and valleys wide,And gushing streams from mountain side,Present, o’ercapped by dome of blue,A splendid panoramic view.

O beautiful river, I have longed for the hour,My muse would awaken and give me the power,To ring out the key note and tune my sweet lyre,To sing of thy glory with spirit and fire.Oft charmed by thy beauty, and amazed at thy size,I’ve gazed on thy grandeur with keen wondering eyes,Watched thy clear blue waters as they slowly pass by,Reflecting true pictures of the clouds in the sky.So deep is thy bottom and so broad is thy stream,Thy volume is greater than thy looks make it seem,Tho slow is thy current, great force there is in it,Moving a million tons of water each minute.Many are the sources that provide the supply,That keeps this great river from ever running dry,The inflow and outflow do so nearly conform,That the river’s level is very uniform.Far away in the north, in the land of the moose,In the cool summer home of the fleety wild goose,Where the valleys are deep and the mountain tops are white,And the snow rarely melts above a certain height.Where springs burst from the hills and trickle down their sides,And enlarge into brooks that go to swell the tides,And joining rivulets from the dissolving snow,Are gathered into lakes in the basins below.Where the small lakes are brown like the rocks on their shores,And tho they are numbered by near an hundred scores,And pour their dark waters into large lakes of blue,The larger lakes remain unto their color true.Where the lazy brown bear sleeps the warm winter thru,And beavers build houses and live in comfort, too,And the lone loon’s shrill cry sounds far off, yet is near,And the wolf lies in wait for the innocent deer.Where summer nights are short and winter nights are long,And the tumbling waters keep up an endless song,Where the forests are thick and in their native state,But for the woodman’s ax will not have long to wait.Where many hills contain copper, silver and gold,And iron mines hold wealth in vast millions untold,Where precious stones are found of great beauty and worth,And nickel and sandstone add value to the earth.Where lumbermen find wealth in the forests of pine,And other valued trees within the drainage line,The red birch, yellow birch, white birch, hemlock and spruce,And the numerous trees man converts to his use.Where millions of acres of farming lands are drained,And many bright children are in school being trained,And thousands of people are toiling for their bread,And rarely go hungry, thank God it can be said.And hundreds of rivers in the north, south and west,Are working night and day, and striving at their best,To empty their contents just so quick as they can,Into lakes Superior, Huron and Michigan.But vast is the country they are called on to drain,So heavy the snowfall, so frequent the rain,Tho these rivers work hard and have no day to spare,They can only supply the great river St. Clair.Lake Huron takes the flow from long Lake Michigan,And Lake Superior since the work first began,And tho these great bodies all empty into one,That one’s capacity is never overdone.The river pours its waters into Lake St. Clair,And the waters pass thru Detroit River fair,And thence thru Lake Erie to Niagara Falls,Where it drops in a chasm between two rocky walls.Thence to Ontario, the last lake in the chain,And reaching this level it ne’er comes back again.Now the great St. Lawrence carries it to the sea,And there its journey ends is plain to you and me.Where this water comes from, my story now has told,And whither it all goes, it does likewise unfold;There is one more question I’ll answer with delight,And it gives me pleasure to know I answer right.The God who made the earth revolve around the sun,And who made the seasons their yearly courses run,The God who made the rain and also made the snow,Made this mighty river so it always will flow.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.Fine orchards of apples, and other kinds of fruit,The sweet and the bitter, differing tastes to suit,Fields of wheat, oats and corn, and large meadows of grass,Are admired by watchful travellers as they pass.Lovely flowers and vines, and lawns of downy green,Add their attractiveness to beautify the scene,Hundreds of pleasant homes adorn the pretty shores,And many grand hotels hold summer guests in scores.The river’s eight islands are turned to pleasure’s use,And if it is not found, no man need make excuse.Here is hunting, fishing, and games that all can play,And people joyfully can pass the time away.Indians hold a part of the land on one side,But now they are peaceful, having cast war aside,Many sorts of people form the population,And by their enterprise help to make the nation.Mineral waters cure the rheumatic and lame,Restore health to people and give the river fame;Thus good health and pleasure come from river and bank,And give the location a standing high in rank.On either side the river a railroad runs along,Thus accommodating the gay and happy throng,Who gather for pleasure and spend a little wealth,In hearty enjoyment and in renewing health.How beautiful to see steamers passing at night,When brilliantly lighted by the electric light,Showing on the waters their pictures as they pass,As lively and pretty as in a looking glass.Travellers who have seen the Rhone and pretty Rhine,And rode on the waters of the blue Danube fine,Have seen the famous Nile and the great Amazon,Say the St. Clair excels in beauty ev’ry one.’Tis not alone beauty that gives this river fame,Its great utility adds glory to its name;When constructing the earth wise Nature took a halt,And under this river made a vast sea of salt.In many factories this salt is now refined,And no where in the world is found a better kind;The farmers raise fine crops for man and beast to eat,And large refineries make sugar from the beet.Large mills manufacture flour, staves, hoops and lumber,And other industries exist in large number,The plodding explorer finds reward for his toil,As the land on the shores bears sulphur, gas and oil.In the towns there are built fine ships of wood and steel,By workmen as handy as ever laid a keel,And these ships are handled by men as smart and brave,As ever left a port, or rode upon the wave.No bridge was ever built over this mighty stream,But beneath a tunnel so strange as it may seem,And cars by the hundreds pass thru it ev’ry day,Bearing a large commerce upon its destined way.Far greater the traffic that daily passes thru,In the thousands of ships that sail thy waters blue,Sailing ships and steamships, and boats of ev’ry form,Fit to sail a river, or face an ocean storm.How wonderful the change since five score years ago,From the Indian canoe that was so small and slow,To the mammoth steel ships of immense size and weight,Large enough to carry eight thousand tons of freight.Numerous are the styles, between these two extremes,And various in size with which the river teems,There are skiffs and light sculls, that carry only one,And row boats, and yawl boats, with room for half a ton.Sailing yachts for pleasure, quite safe when handled right,Glide across the water and furnish great delight,Fast electric launches and naptha boats are seen,And beautiful steam yachts, nice enough for a queen.Schooners, scows, sloops and brigs, navigate up and down,And are a pleasing sight when sailing by a town;While passenger steamers of great beauty and speed,Carry many thousands and furnish what they need.But greater the freight ships, full five hundred feet long,With thirty feet of hold and in proportion strong,And large are the cargoes these great ships can transport,Food to feed a city, or supply a large fort.A whole township of crops in one enormous load,Or railroad rails enough for eighty miles of road,A copper cargo worth three millions of dollars,Or cloth enough to clothe four millions of scholars.Many are the products transported by these ships,And vast is the volume for they make many trips,So great is the traffic it is safe to relate,There’s no other river has a commerce so great.Michigan, Wisconsin and big Minnesota,Furnish the greater part of the immense quota,And the states further west help augment the treasure,And Canada assists with a handsome measure.Grain comes from all the states in the thrifty northwest,And Manitoba’s wheat takes rank among the best,Millions of tons of grain are yearly carried by,And fill elevators that tower in the sky.Lumber comes from the lakes above the river’s head,And from the many streams by which the lakes are fed,Copper and iron go east, coal always to the west,And ordinary goods the way that pays the best.Tea and silk from China, India and Japan,And thousands of products, the handiwork of man,Fruits from California, elegant wines from France,And ev’ry thing on earth that does man’s wealth enhance.One product not mentioned that moves itself along,Is the excellent fish that in the river throng,Myriads in number, of great value for food,Catching them for pleasure does the fisherman good.With commerce unequaled and beauty unexcelled,And water as pretty as ever river held,This elegant river, its story now outlined,Deserves to be admired by all ranks of mankind.

O beautiful river, I have longed for the hour,My muse would awaken and give me the power,To ring out the key note and tune my sweet lyre,To sing of thy glory with spirit and fire.

Oft charmed by thy beauty, and amazed at thy size,I’ve gazed on thy grandeur with keen wondering eyes,Watched thy clear blue waters as they slowly pass by,Reflecting true pictures of the clouds in the sky.

So deep is thy bottom and so broad is thy stream,Thy volume is greater than thy looks make it seem,Tho slow is thy current, great force there is in it,Moving a million tons of water each minute.

Many are the sources that provide the supply,That keeps this great river from ever running dry,The inflow and outflow do so nearly conform,That the river’s level is very uniform.

Far away in the north, in the land of the moose,In the cool summer home of the fleety wild goose,Where the valleys are deep and the mountain tops are white,And the snow rarely melts above a certain height.

Where springs burst from the hills and trickle down their sides,And enlarge into brooks that go to swell the tides,And joining rivulets from the dissolving snow,Are gathered into lakes in the basins below.

Where the small lakes are brown like the rocks on their shores,And tho they are numbered by near an hundred scores,And pour their dark waters into large lakes of blue,The larger lakes remain unto their color true.

Where the lazy brown bear sleeps the warm winter thru,And beavers build houses and live in comfort, too,And the lone loon’s shrill cry sounds far off, yet is near,And the wolf lies in wait for the innocent deer.

Where summer nights are short and winter nights are long,And the tumbling waters keep up an endless song,Where the forests are thick and in their native state,But for the woodman’s ax will not have long to wait.

Where many hills contain copper, silver and gold,And iron mines hold wealth in vast millions untold,Where precious stones are found of great beauty and worth,And nickel and sandstone add value to the earth.

Where lumbermen find wealth in the forests of pine,And other valued trees within the drainage line,The red birch, yellow birch, white birch, hemlock and spruce,And the numerous trees man converts to his use.

Where millions of acres of farming lands are drained,And many bright children are in school being trained,And thousands of people are toiling for their bread,And rarely go hungry, thank God it can be said.

And hundreds of rivers in the north, south and west,Are working night and day, and striving at their best,To empty their contents just so quick as they can,Into lakes Superior, Huron and Michigan.

But vast is the country they are called on to drain,So heavy the snowfall, so frequent the rain,Tho these rivers work hard and have no day to spare,They can only supply the great river St. Clair.

Lake Huron takes the flow from long Lake Michigan,And Lake Superior since the work first began,And tho these great bodies all empty into one,That one’s capacity is never overdone.

The river pours its waters into Lake St. Clair,And the waters pass thru Detroit River fair,And thence thru Lake Erie to Niagara Falls,Where it drops in a chasm between two rocky walls.

Thence to Ontario, the last lake in the chain,And reaching this level it ne’er comes back again.Now the great St. Lawrence carries it to the sea,And there its journey ends is plain to you and me.

Where this water comes from, my story now has told,And whither it all goes, it does likewise unfold;There is one more question I’ll answer with delight,And it gives me pleasure to know I answer right.

The God who made the earth revolve around the sun,And who made the seasons their yearly courses run,The God who made the rain and also made the snow,Made this mighty river so it always will flow.

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.

Fine orchards of apples, and other kinds of fruit,The sweet and the bitter, differing tastes to suit,Fields of wheat, oats and corn, and large meadows of grass,Are admired by watchful travellers as they pass.

Lovely flowers and vines, and lawns of downy green,Add their attractiveness to beautify the scene,Hundreds of pleasant homes adorn the pretty shores,And many grand hotels hold summer guests in scores.

The river’s eight islands are turned to pleasure’s use,And if it is not found, no man need make excuse.Here is hunting, fishing, and games that all can play,And people joyfully can pass the time away.

Indians hold a part of the land on one side,But now they are peaceful, having cast war aside,Many sorts of people form the population,And by their enterprise help to make the nation.

Mineral waters cure the rheumatic and lame,Restore health to people and give the river fame;Thus good health and pleasure come from river and bank,And give the location a standing high in rank.

On either side the river a railroad runs along,Thus accommodating the gay and happy throng,Who gather for pleasure and spend a little wealth,In hearty enjoyment and in renewing health.

How beautiful to see steamers passing at night,When brilliantly lighted by the electric light,Showing on the waters their pictures as they pass,As lively and pretty as in a looking glass.

Travellers who have seen the Rhone and pretty Rhine,And rode on the waters of the blue Danube fine,Have seen the famous Nile and the great Amazon,Say the St. Clair excels in beauty ev’ry one.

’Tis not alone beauty that gives this river fame,Its great utility adds glory to its name;When constructing the earth wise Nature took a halt,And under this river made a vast sea of salt.

In many factories this salt is now refined,And no where in the world is found a better kind;The farmers raise fine crops for man and beast to eat,And large refineries make sugar from the beet.

Large mills manufacture flour, staves, hoops and lumber,And other industries exist in large number,The plodding explorer finds reward for his toil,As the land on the shores bears sulphur, gas and oil.

In the towns there are built fine ships of wood and steel,By workmen as handy as ever laid a keel,And these ships are handled by men as smart and brave,As ever left a port, or rode upon the wave.

No bridge was ever built over this mighty stream,But beneath a tunnel so strange as it may seem,And cars by the hundreds pass thru it ev’ry day,Bearing a large commerce upon its destined way.

Far greater the traffic that daily passes thru,In the thousands of ships that sail thy waters blue,Sailing ships and steamships, and boats of ev’ry form,Fit to sail a river, or face an ocean storm.

How wonderful the change since five score years ago,From the Indian canoe that was so small and slow,To the mammoth steel ships of immense size and weight,Large enough to carry eight thousand tons of freight.

Numerous are the styles, between these two extremes,And various in size with which the river teems,There are skiffs and light sculls, that carry only one,And row boats, and yawl boats, with room for half a ton.

Sailing yachts for pleasure, quite safe when handled right,Glide across the water and furnish great delight,Fast electric launches and naptha boats are seen,And beautiful steam yachts, nice enough for a queen.

Schooners, scows, sloops and brigs, navigate up and down,And are a pleasing sight when sailing by a town;While passenger steamers of great beauty and speed,Carry many thousands and furnish what they need.

But greater the freight ships, full five hundred feet long,With thirty feet of hold and in proportion strong,And large are the cargoes these great ships can transport,Food to feed a city, or supply a large fort.

A whole township of crops in one enormous load,Or railroad rails enough for eighty miles of road,A copper cargo worth three millions of dollars,Or cloth enough to clothe four millions of scholars.

Many are the products transported by these ships,And vast is the volume for they make many trips,So great is the traffic it is safe to relate,There’s no other river has a commerce so great.

Michigan, Wisconsin and big Minnesota,Furnish the greater part of the immense quota,And the states further west help augment the treasure,And Canada assists with a handsome measure.

Grain comes from all the states in the thrifty northwest,And Manitoba’s wheat takes rank among the best,Millions of tons of grain are yearly carried by,And fill elevators that tower in the sky.

Lumber comes from the lakes above the river’s head,And from the many streams by which the lakes are fed,Copper and iron go east, coal always to the west,And ordinary goods the way that pays the best.

Tea and silk from China, India and Japan,And thousands of products, the handiwork of man,Fruits from California, elegant wines from France,And ev’ry thing on earth that does man’s wealth enhance.

One product not mentioned that moves itself along,Is the excellent fish that in the river throng,Myriads in number, of great value for food,Catching them for pleasure does the fisherman good.

With commerce unequaled and beauty unexcelled,And water as pretty as ever river held,This elegant river, its story now outlined,Deserves to be admired by all ranks of mankind.

Under nature’s just laws,All effects have their cause,And bear each other a true relation;And the good deeds of manAre measured by this plan,And in some way receive compensation.What tho a loving wifeBe united for life,To one heartless as the moon or the sun;Her soft love may entwine,Like a beautiful vine,And embellish the whole life of that one.If a true hearted man,Who lives by moral plan,Should be bonded to an ill-natured wife;Of one thing he is sure,’Tis the love sweet and pure,Of warm, sympathizing friends all his life.There’s a trait in the heart,That espouses the part,Of the sorrowful, the weary and meek,And a just common sense,Awards due recompense,To the long-suff’ring who bear with the weak.The tall monument grand,Is oft fated to stand,Alone by itself, aloft in the sky;But ’tis thus its great height,Is revealed to man’s sight,And its true grandeur appears to the eye.The snow covered mountains,Far above the fountains,And the sparking rills that spring from their base;Make the landscape more fair,While they temper the air,And are awarded by nature a place.There’s a road that leads downTo the dregs of the town,Where strife, poverty, and sorrow abound;But the higher men climbToward regions sublime,The more delightful the journey is found.The unfortunate maySee their lives pass away,Before they succeed in gaining a prize;But the more men aspire,To realms that are higher,The grander the view that opes to their eyes.The wise, ambitious man,Who has failed in his plan,And doubts if the world is using him right;Will learn from his trials,And brave self denials,How grandly to win success in the fight.Little children at schoolThink it is a hard rule,That keeps them confined so much of their time;But the knowledge they gain,Pays them well for their pain,When they arrive at the age of their prime.’Tis a long tedious fightTo bring children up right,And parents wear out while under the spell;But rich compensation,And sweet consolation,Comes to the parents whose work is done well.There’s the mother whose share,Is a life full of care,With thousands of griefs and pains to smother;But O what high honor,Nature confers on her,In the hallowed and sweet name of—mother.The physician whose lifeIs never ending strife,In battling with sickness common to man,Finds great satisfaction,In the benefaction,His skill confers thru his life-saving plan.The surgeon whose trained knife,Cuts in deep to save life,May be criticized, called brutal, and spurned;But his fame reaches out,To wide regions about,And brings distinction and honor well earned.The chemist who mixes,And otherwise fixesPowerful compounds, assumes a great risk;But science advancesBy taking great chances,The world is the gainer and life more brisk.The inventor whose fateIs to work and create,And burn out his life by the fires of thought,Is consoled by the fact,That his genius and tact,Have lifted mankind thru work he has wrought.The air navigator,And bird imitator,May fly to his death, then sad the story;But the one who succeeds,Has accomplished great deeds,And established his fame to his glory.’Tis the brave pioneersWho inhabit frontiers,And many hardships and trials endure;But the work they begunOften ends if well done,In rest, happiness, and comfort secure.The man who discovers,And nature uncovers,Meets dangers that try him from sole to crown,But his triumph is great,When he gains for his state,An honor that brings him lasting renown.The richest mines of goldAre found in regions cold,And where it’s so hot men scarcely can stand;But the dangers o’ercome,There will always be some,To gather great wealth that spreads o’er the land.The poets whose stories,Sing the nation’s glories,May be ignored when honors are given;But the thoughts they imbue,Are ennobling and true,And make patriots and Christians of men.The statemen who are wise,Have bright thoughts men despise,Because greatly in advance of the age;But the wisdom they show,If well rooted will grow,And be emblazoned on history’s page.The minister may workWith the zeal of a Turk,And not break the grip of sin upon man;But he reaps his rewardBy still serving the Lord,Determined to save ev’ry soul he can.The man of advanced thought,May see it come to naught,Because others do not see the same light;But by going before,He has opened the door,To beautiful realms now coming in sight.There’s no loss without gain,Is quite true in the main,And will apply to man or a nation,And each sacrifice made,To lift higher man’s grade,Nature rewards with just compensation.The strictly honest man,Who adheres to his plan,Thru all the trials that over him roll,Can endure with a smile,For he knows all the whileHe is living in sweet peace with his soul.When man’s record is right,His good deeds make it bright,And bloom in his manhood like golden rod;’Tis his vindication,And brings compensation,In lifting his soul up nearer to God.

Under nature’s just laws,All effects have their cause,And bear each other a true relation;And the good deeds of manAre measured by this plan,And in some way receive compensation.

What tho a loving wifeBe united for life,To one heartless as the moon or the sun;Her soft love may entwine,Like a beautiful vine,And embellish the whole life of that one.

If a true hearted man,Who lives by moral plan,Should be bonded to an ill-natured wife;Of one thing he is sure,’Tis the love sweet and pure,Of warm, sympathizing friends all his life.

There’s a trait in the heart,That espouses the part,Of the sorrowful, the weary and meek,And a just common sense,Awards due recompense,To the long-suff’ring who bear with the weak.

The tall monument grand,Is oft fated to stand,Alone by itself, aloft in the sky;But ’tis thus its great height,Is revealed to man’s sight,And its true grandeur appears to the eye.

The snow covered mountains,Far above the fountains,And the sparking rills that spring from their base;Make the landscape more fair,While they temper the air,And are awarded by nature a place.

There’s a road that leads downTo the dregs of the town,Where strife, poverty, and sorrow abound;But the higher men climbToward regions sublime,The more delightful the journey is found.

The unfortunate maySee their lives pass away,Before they succeed in gaining a prize;But the more men aspire,To realms that are higher,The grander the view that opes to their eyes.

The wise, ambitious man,Who has failed in his plan,And doubts if the world is using him right;Will learn from his trials,And brave self denials,How grandly to win success in the fight.

Little children at schoolThink it is a hard rule,That keeps them confined so much of their time;But the knowledge they gain,Pays them well for their pain,When they arrive at the age of their prime.

’Tis a long tedious fightTo bring children up right,And parents wear out while under the spell;But rich compensation,And sweet consolation,Comes to the parents whose work is done well.

There’s the mother whose share,Is a life full of care,With thousands of griefs and pains to smother;But O what high honor,Nature confers on her,In the hallowed and sweet name of—mother.

The physician whose lifeIs never ending strife,In battling with sickness common to man,Finds great satisfaction,In the benefaction,His skill confers thru his life-saving plan.

The surgeon whose trained knife,Cuts in deep to save life,May be criticized, called brutal, and spurned;But his fame reaches out,To wide regions about,And brings distinction and honor well earned.

The chemist who mixes,And otherwise fixesPowerful compounds, assumes a great risk;But science advancesBy taking great chances,The world is the gainer and life more brisk.

The inventor whose fateIs to work and create,And burn out his life by the fires of thought,Is consoled by the fact,That his genius and tact,Have lifted mankind thru work he has wrought.

The air navigator,And bird imitator,May fly to his death, then sad the story;But the one who succeeds,Has accomplished great deeds,And established his fame to his glory.

’Tis the brave pioneersWho inhabit frontiers,And many hardships and trials endure;But the work they begunOften ends if well done,In rest, happiness, and comfort secure.

The man who discovers,And nature uncovers,Meets dangers that try him from sole to crown,But his triumph is great,When he gains for his state,An honor that brings him lasting renown.

The richest mines of goldAre found in regions cold,And where it’s so hot men scarcely can stand;But the dangers o’ercome,There will always be some,To gather great wealth that spreads o’er the land.

The poets whose stories,Sing the nation’s glories,May be ignored when honors are given;But the thoughts they imbue,Are ennobling and true,And make patriots and Christians of men.

The statemen who are wise,Have bright thoughts men despise,Because greatly in advance of the age;But the wisdom they show,If well rooted will grow,And be emblazoned on history’s page.

The minister may workWith the zeal of a Turk,And not break the grip of sin upon man;But he reaps his rewardBy still serving the Lord,Determined to save ev’ry soul he can.

The man of advanced thought,May see it come to naught,Because others do not see the same light;But by going before,He has opened the door,To beautiful realms now coming in sight.

There’s no loss without gain,Is quite true in the main,And will apply to man or a nation,And each sacrifice made,To lift higher man’s grade,Nature rewards with just compensation.

The strictly honest man,Who adheres to his plan,Thru all the trials that over him roll,Can endure with a smile,For he knows all the whileHe is living in sweet peace with his soul.

When man’s record is right,His good deeds make it bright,And bloom in his manhood like golden rod;’Tis his vindication,And brings compensation,In lifting his soul up nearer to God.

The spirit of progression has spoken,The hour for expansion is here,The thraldom of ignorance is broken,A wave of advancement is near.A war for humanity’s sake was fought,That exalted the soul of man,And lifted him up to a region fraught,With work on a Lordlier plan.His horizon is vastly extended,He stands on a loftier plain,His fine talents can now be expended,For his benighted brother’s gain.His mind has been delivered from bondage,And filled with buoyancy and hope,Will grow and expand to advantage,And cover the world in its scope.With his soul as free as the thunder’s roll,And as sure as the lightning’s stroke,He can circle the earth from pole to pole,And abolish tyranny’s yoke.No more will boundary lines restrain him,Nor walls of granite stay his course,The brotherhood of man will sustain him,And the love of God be his force.The age of enforced delusion is past,Man’s spirit is gathering light,The slavery of the mind can not last,Against the advancement of right.No army of men, nor murderous gun,Is needed to open the way,The greatest victories by love are won,Where the spirit of Christ holds sway.It is love alone hath power and scope,To penetrate the heathen mind,And cause it to expand with faith and hope,And a nobler ideal find.Expansion is right, expansion of soul,And expansion of liberty,Expansion of love till it gains control,And all the world’s people are free.These are the principles that must prevail,In ev’ry land beneath the sun,And there’s no more oppression to assail,Ere the work of love will be done.

The spirit of progression has spoken,The hour for expansion is here,The thraldom of ignorance is broken,A wave of advancement is near.

A war for humanity’s sake was fought,That exalted the soul of man,And lifted him up to a region fraught,With work on a Lordlier plan.

His horizon is vastly extended,He stands on a loftier plain,His fine talents can now be expended,For his benighted brother’s gain.

His mind has been delivered from bondage,And filled with buoyancy and hope,Will grow and expand to advantage,And cover the world in its scope.

With his soul as free as the thunder’s roll,And as sure as the lightning’s stroke,He can circle the earth from pole to pole,And abolish tyranny’s yoke.

No more will boundary lines restrain him,Nor walls of granite stay his course,The brotherhood of man will sustain him,And the love of God be his force.

The age of enforced delusion is past,Man’s spirit is gathering light,The slavery of the mind can not last,Against the advancement of right.

No army of men, nor murderous gun,Is needed to open the way,The greatest victories by love are won,Where the spirit of Christ holds sway.

It is love alone hath power and scope,To penetrate the heathen mind,And cause it to expand with faith and hope,And a nobler ideal find.

Expansion is right, expansion of soul,And expansion of liberty,Expansion of love till it gains control,And all the world’s people are free.

These are the principles that must prevail,In ev’ry land beneath the sun,And there’s no more oppression to assail,Ere the work of love will be done.

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