Knoxville journal. [volume] (Knoxville, Iowa) 1874-1986, 1874-07-02
The "June Rise' of the Missouri.

THE Yankton Press and Dakotian gives
the following graphic description of the
annual June rise of the Missouri River:
Down along the longest valley in the
world, past our very doors comes the an
mail messenger, coursing with haste,
yellow with mud and spotted foam,
with tidings from the snowy peaks and
inaccessible cliffs of the Rocky Noun
tains Starting months ago from unin-
habited mountain regions rich in pre-
cious metals, it has just reached the land
of prairie cities and farms, and goes
rushing on, unchecked by storm or night,
to bear its message months after this
even TO the tropic shores of the Gulf.
Never pause does the mighty torrent
know, in the whole 1000 miles of its
course
What is the news that this wonderful
courier brings every year out OF the hid
den Businesses where it has birth? 1t
tells us that the great annual change has
once more been completed; that the
snow-clad peaks have felt the reviving
force of the spring sunshine, and that
snowdrifts deep enough to bury the
mountain pines are turned to pure noun
tain rills laundering cataracts along trib-
utary streams, and at last to river that
Is huO"u tllOuShoub ehC ~ wis
us again the marvellous tale that all the
rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not
FULL" and sets us to thinking of the
mighty power of natures silent and im-.
perceptible forces, waiting distilled wa
tiers from the salt sea, crystallizing 1t on
the mountain tops, and setting it free to
run once more it's yearly race and mix
again with the briny ocean. 1t tells us
to never fear lest the supplies of nature
and the streams of Gods bounties may
fail; for that eternal power which lifts
this whole river from the ocean to the
realms of perpetual ice will guard even
the sparrow from want. And it tells the
story of
That strange,
Perpetual round of change
From birth to death from death to birth
From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth,
as described by the American Bard of
Nature.
And so the great river goes roaring
down its winding track, full to the banks,
bearing the evidences of the country and
people along it's course. The pure, limpid
snow water soon falls into bad associa-
tons and after running for weeks with
the clay hills of Montana it comes out
contaminated and corrupted to turbid,
brawling mass of mud. The hills, to be
sure, were also the sufferers from the
companionship, for the rivers ceaseless
energy undermined them and tumbled
them into the depths; but the purity of
the stream is gone never to return even
soiling the character of its future consort,
the clear Mississippi. So much for the
corrupting effects of bad company.
Sailing on its boiling surges go floating
lost dug-outs of Indians, dead carcasses
of buffalo that dropped through the ice
last winter, small logs of cottonwood,
pointed at both ends as gnawed off by
the myriad beaver that line all its shores
and fragments of red and blue and
purple lava from the volcanic rocks and
scoria of the Bad Lands. And all steam
ers float like swans on the surface, their
fiat bottoms secure from the hateful
sand-bars below, now buried and for
gotten.
Once yearl The wheels of Natures
clock turn slowly! This annual flood is
but single tick of its pendulum in the
long night of time. Nay, rather, it is a
single pulsation of the great heart of
Nature, forcing the life-current with a
bound through its longest artery. The
long half year of winter was the moment
OF inaction and of rest to earth's vital
forces, followed by the period of life,
heat and activity lasting till winter again.
The season of deathly stiffness has given
place to the leaping streams and warm,
vital forces of spring. and in midsummer
comes the June rise, telling us the heart
OF the Rocky Mountains has given
another beat, and sent its pulse thrilling
through the nation to the Gulf to pro-
claim it, Slow beatings, to our impatient
minds and brief span Of life; yet to Him
who alone has counted them through the
ages they mark the fight of years till
time shall be counted no longer, even as
our fevered pulses tell us there comes a
day when the beating heart shall at last
be still.