A dash of yellow sand, 
Wind-scattered and sun-tanned; 
Some waves that curl and cream along the margin of the strand; 
And, creeping close to these 
Long shores that lounge at ease, 
Old Erie rocks and ripples to a fresh sou'-western breeze. 

A sky of blue and grey; 
Some stormy clouds that play 
At scurrying up with ragged edge, then laughing blow away, 
Just leaving in their trail 
Some snatches of a gale; 
To whistling summer winds we lift a single daring sail. 

O! wind so sweet and swift, 
O! danger-freighted gift 
Bestowed on Erie with her waves that foam and fall and lift, 
We laugh in your wild face, 
And break into a race 
With flying clouds and tossing gulls that weave and interlace.