They shook their heads that morning,

And said it was a shame,

That he was leaving Saint Joe’s,

And the family name.

Door hanging open to the cold,

They watched him turn and go;

Faces framed in the windowpane,

And footsteps in the snow.

The younger brothers would hear it,

In the Father’s simple way,

“Brother Sterling Cleon left the seminary today.”



Down from Calicoon,

With the wind rising high,

He lost himself and kissed his rosary.

Down from Yasgur’s frozen fields,

Where his nation had just died,

He looked for Mary along the highway.



Pennsylvania before nightfall,

If the rides were good,

Carolina by daybreak,

And friends that understood.

A truck stop in New Jersey,

An accident on the Pike,

A little girl dead and frozen,

And the sirens in the night.

A half-a-man in Delaware,

Vietnam amputee,

Brother Sterling Cleon threw away his rosary.



Down from Calicoon,

With the wind rising high,

He lost himself—there was no rosary.

Down from Yasgur’s frozen fields,

Where his nation had just died,

He looked for Mary along the highway.



Winter passed in a southern town,

And spring was growing warm,

A caravan would be leaving for the river,

Looking for a farm.

Empty years had made the choice,

Nothing left to say—

Brother Sterling Cleon waited for that summer day.



Spirit of the river,

Come inside a troubled mind,

And lay to rest the evil that you find.

August on the river,

Together let us be,

Together let us be.



The summer sun burned the grass,

And the old men that they passed,

Working in the fields of Ohio.

A song to ease the fears,

Of all the coming years,

Anthem for a long, long way to go.



Spirit of the river,

Come inside a troubled mind,

And lay to rest the evil that you find.

August on the river,

Together let us be,

Together let us be.



August on the river,

August to be free.