River, River by Maude Keary

River, river, running through the land,
Are you a traveler over foreign sand?
Are you a carrier from town to town,
River, river, as you hurry down.

Yes, I’m a carrier from town to town:
Here are ships with white sails, there are boats with brown,
What shall they bring you, what will you send?
I’ll be your carrier to the land’s end.