The Flooded Hut of The Mississippi

On the wide-rolling river, at eve, set the sun,
And the long-toiling day of the woodman was done,
And he flung down the axe that had felled the huge tree,
And his own little daughter he placed on his knee;
She looked up, with smiles, at a dovecot o'er head--
Where, circling around, flew the pigeons she fed,
And more fondly the sire clasp'd his child to his breast--
As he kiss'd her--and called her the bird of his nest.


The wide-rolling river rose high in the night,
The wide-rolling river, at morn, show'd its might,
For it leap'd o'er its bounds, and invaded the wood
Where the humble abode of the wood-cutter stood.
All was danger around, and no aid was in view,
And higher and higher the wild waters grew,
And the child--looking up at the dovecot in air,
Cried, "Father--oh father, I wish we were there!"


"My child," said the father, "that dovecot of thine
Should enliven our faith in the Mercy Divine;
'Twas a dove that brought Noah the sweet branch of peace,
To show him the anger of Heaven did cease:
Then kneel, my lov'd child, by thy fond father's side,
And pray that our hut may in safety abide,
And then, from all fear may our bosoms be proof--
While the dove of the deluge is over our roof."