Straight up Frontenac's Northmost side
Ever a West he sailed,
Crossing in blessed Advent tide,
Landing on great Niagara's shore.
South he turned to a sullen roar;
His Crucifix on his heart he bore;
Never his spirit failed.
Now Glory to God, whose hand did forge
This wondrous watery road!
On ragged rim of the fearful gorge
South he toiled through brambles and moss,
Past rapids roaring like souls atoss.
He blessed himself with the sign of the Cross
At the cliff where the torrent flowed.
His little altar was quick untied;
Small waxen tapers alight,
He said the Mass of the Sanctified.
Turning South through the wintry haze,
His eyes aglow, his heart ablaze,
At Chippawa's flow, with a song of praise,
He made his camp for the night.