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| LAND of Rivers! Moving down | |
| Slow through forest, farm, and town, | |
| With his tributary streams, | |
| Beautiful in glooms and gleams, | |
| Flows the Wabash! Yonder, see, | 5 |
| Sinking fathoms under ground, | |
| The Lost River, lost and found, | |
| From its grave beneath the plain | |
| Springing into life again. | |
| Land of Rivers! Hail to thee! | 10 |
| |
| Land of Forests! Wide thy vast | |
| Centennial oaks their shadows cast, | |
| In whose gnarled and hollow trunks | |
| Hive the bees, like cloistered monks, | |
| Singing their low litany. | 15 |
| Through the openings far and near | |
| Stalks, as through a park, the deer, | |
| And in autumn fiery red | |
| Glows the foliage overhead. | |
| Land of Forests! Hail to thee! | 20 |
| |
| Land of Meadows! where the flowers | |
| On their dials count the hours, | |
| And the lowland landscape breaks | |
| Into little sylvan lakes, | |
| Garlanded with shrub and tree; | 25 |
| Where the maize for miles and miles | |
| Lifts its green, cathedral aisles, | |
| And the endless fields of wheat | |
| Ripen in the harvest heat. | |
| Land of Meadows! Hail to thee! | 30 |
| |
| Land of Caverns! Who knows not | |
| Thy wondrous Cave of Wyandot? | |
| Leagues of chambers glimmering far, | |
| With their fretted roofs of spar. | |
| What, compared with this, are ye, | 35 |
| Grottos of the Illyrian land? | |
| Nature on a scale more grand | |
| Laid the timbers of these floors, | |
| Arched these halls and corridors. | |
| Land of Caverns! Hail to thee! | 40 |
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