Hidden beyond the bushes, none knew the brook but I,
That fed the lake of Ozark, apple of my eye.
Through mountains steep as Scotia,
And parting waves like Moshe,
She whispered words of peace with a rushing supply.
She knew no works of man, and no smoke filled her sky,
Save the stone steeple sat on the highest hill nigh.
She knew of G-d and nature,
Yes, mayhem and order,
Yet whispered words of peace with a rushing supply.
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