Tune, 'Way down upon the Swanee River'.

Right here, where Indian fires were lighted,
Long, long ago;
Where dusky forms, by rum incited,
Danced wildly to and fro;
We, Old Settlers, come to greet you,
Proffer heart and hand;
Breathe, too, a fervent prayer to meet you
Yonder, in the spirit-land.

Gone tawny chief, whose war-cry sounded—
All but his name,
That far and near has been resounded,
Linked with our rising fame.
Keokuk! with pride we gather
On thy golden strand;
While from the skies a loving Father
Blesses our sunset land.

O brothers! there are dear old faces
Hid 'neath the mold;
Forms missing from their wonted places,
Hands we have clasped, still and cold.
While the scores of years behind us
Tell we're hastening on,
And that, when friends return to find us,
Softly may fall, 'They are gone.'

Here, brothers, where our noble river
Chants through its waves,
May we remain till called to sever,—
Make here and guard our graves.
And with welcoming shouts we'll greet you
When you reach heaven's strand;
Fling wide the golden gates and meet you,
Brothers in the Eden-land.