The St. John here is seen to run
Due East, a streak of silver bright,
Resplendent in the Summer sun,
And at all times a pleasing sight.
Once savages roamed o'er the land.
It was their well loved hunting ground,
Where moose and deer they could command,
And beaver plentiful were found.
The Ridge has been a place for farms
For years some six or seven score.
It was a prize to British arms
In the sad days of heartless war.
It prospered has because of peace,
But changes great were bound to come.
Changes on earth will never cease,
This all men know, Man is not dumb.
The Ridge is just a watershed
Between two streams, the Macnaquac
And Keswick. Both the St. John fed T
hrough ages countless, far, far back,
Once all this land was under sea.
Once glaciers gouged the Keswick Vale.
The St. John's mouth is thought to be
Where islands now our eyes assail.
St. John itself, so some suppose,
Ran where the Keswick now doth run.
But this is something no man knows.
The time is long since this was done.
The Keswick stream and Macnaquac
Run parallel, four miles apart.
Rich lands the Ridge doth little lack.
They satisfy a farmer's heart.