The Lake of the Thousand Isles

(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.