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 breeze Scatters 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 plain In Afric’s sunny land, Carrying in its train Great clouds of burning sand. Over our heads so mild We scarcely feel its breath, Or in a tempest wild Strewing its path with death. Over the mighty west, Where roused by maddened ire, It bears upon its crest An 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 roar Heard 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 down Among the country folk. Over the garden wall, Where pretty flowers bloom, From early spring till fall, Shedding their sweet perfume. Over the human race And 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 prize Of peace, in heaven’s goal. Over our country grand, Waving the flag of peace, Ruled by a Mighty Hand Whose 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. ODE TO LAKE SUPERIOR. 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.