(For Music.)
 Though Missouri'stide 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.