O, White River Valley
With your mountains above,
Your treasured traditions,
The legends we love,
Are vanishing swiftly
Into the unknown;
Your old rugged customs
So soon will be gone.

The old settlers' staunchness,
The hill country lore,
The language and idioms
From Old England's shore,
The "ha'nts" and the "sperrits",
The visions and dreams,
Are gone with the ghosts
And the pant'ers' wild screams.

No watermill earning
Its tithing of grain,
No oxen-made furrows
Are planted again;
No spinning wheel whirring,
No dyepot, no loom,
No backyard ash hopper,
No horseshoe-charmed home!

O, White River Valley,
Deep, deep in your heart,
Preserve for our children
Your pioneer art;
O, write on a page in
The annals of Time
The stories and legends
Of an Era sublime!

by Inez C. Hinds