Resting, softly resting! Gently, Girl, gently! Down the hill comes Singing Water, laughing, laughing! Don't you hear it laughing?
Listen to the big owl courting; it sees the coon out hunting, it hears the mink softly slipping, slipping, where the dews of night are dripping.

And the little birds are sleeping, so still they are sleeping.

Girls should be a-sleeping, like the birds a-sleeping, for to-morrow joy comes creeping, joy and life and love come creeping, creeping to my Girl.

Gently, gently, that's a dear girl, gently! Tired hands rest easy, tired head lies still! That's the way to rest----" On and on the even voice kept up the story.

All over and around the lake, the length of Singing Water, the marsh folk found voices to tell of their lives, where it was a story of joy, rest, and love.