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.