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Thorpe passed his hand across his brow. The same spirit was once fully and freely his. "The music of our burnished ax shall make the woods resound, And many a lofty ancient pine will tumble to the ground. At night around our shanty fire we'll sing while rude winds blow, OH! we'll range the wild woods o'er while a-lumbering we go!" That was what he was here for. Things were going right.
"Come all ye sons of freedom throughout old Michigan, Come all ye gallant lumbermen, list to a shanty man. On the banks of the Muskegon, where the rapid waters flow, OH! we'll range the wild woods o'er while a-lumbering we go." Here was the bold unabashed front of the pioneer, here was absolute certainty in the superiority of his calling, absolute scorn of all others.
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