[acabtp]

The rivers run, and none shall know
How long their waters yet may flow;
We read the record of the past,
While time withholds the future cast.

Yet, in their flowing to the sea,
The rivers fill their destiny;
And to the measure of their lays,
Run on and on, through endless days.

And in the rise, the light and glow
Of grand old rivers, in their flow
From distant hills, through dales and lea,
The fair Passaic seeks the sea.
The fair Passaic seeks the sea.

And overhead, in arch of stone,
There flows a tide, so slow and prone
To will of men, whose genius planned
A waterway, that runs through land.

Until its slow and lazy tide
O'erflows its banks, on either side,
And vast expanse of wastelands fill
With ooze of water, at its will.

And in the rise, the light and glow
Of grand old rivers, in their flow
From distant hills, through dales and lea,
The fair Passaic seeks the sea.
The fair Passaic seeks the sea.