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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/37155-8.txt b/37155-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c567b43 --- /dev/null +++ b/37155-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2106 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Canada, My Land, by W. M. MacKeracher + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Canada, My Land + and Other Compositions in Verse + +Author: W. M. MacKeracher + +Release Date: August 21, 2011 [EBook #37155] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADA, MY LAND *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +CANADA, MY LAND + +AND OTHER COMPOSITIONS IN VERSE + + + +BY + +W. M. MacKERACHER + + + + +TORONTO + +WILLIAM BRIGGS + +1908 + + + + +Copyright, Canada, 1908, by W. M. MacKeracher + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +CANADA, MY LAND + There may be more enchanting climes + +FORWARD, CANADA! + Northland of our birth and rearing + +CANADIAN-BORN + Although I'm not unduly proud + +KNOW'ST THOU THE LAND! + Know'st thou the land where the pious and bold + +O MAPLE LEAF! + Thee best of leaves I love + +DOMINION DAY + Where the purple-vestured mountains + +CANADA'S EIGHTEEN + At Paardeberg they fell + +DOMINION DAY, 1900 + Rejoice, O Canada, rejoice + +O CANADA, MON PAYS, MES AMOURS + O Canada, my country and my love + +SOL CANADIEN, TERRE CHERIE + O soil Canadian, cherished earth + +MY OWN CANADIAN GIRL + The demoiselles of sunny France + +THE ST. LAWRENCE + Though like Ulysses, fam'd of old + +ST. LAWRENCE AND THE COMING SHIPS + I cannot loiter on my way + +THE QUEBEC EXODUS + Why should we leave the soil our fathers cleared + +HEAT + The fickle sun that had the earth caress'd + +INVOCATION TO SUMMER + Come, Summer, come, nor in the south delay + +SIR SUMMER + When conquering Summer stalks the street + +THE NIGHT + A tremor, a quiver, through her ran + +TO BEAUTY + Beauty, belovèd of all gentle hearts + +THE DOCTOR + He bent above our darling's bed + +MY VALENTINE + O Dorothy, sweet Dorothy + +MY FRIENDS + Some to and fro for converse flit + +NOTHING TOO GOOD FOR THE IRISH + It's the Emerald Isle is the beautiful land + +AN ENGLISH TOAST + The English soil!--'tis hallowed ground + +THE SCOT + That no Scotsman is perfect, we freely confess + +THE ROARIN' GAME + The roarin' game, the roarin' game + +THE OLD SCOTTISH MINISTER + A man he was of Scottish race + +THE MACS + There's a race, or a part of a race, if you will + +THE PARSON AT THE HOCKEY MATCH + It's very disagreeable to sit here in the cold + + + + + CANADA, MY LAND. + + There may be more enchanting climes + Within a southern zone; + There may be eastern Edens deckt + With charms to thee unknown; + But thou art fairest unto me, + Because thou art mine own, + Canada, my land. + + More spacious plains and loftier heights + In other realms may be, + And mightier streams than those which bear + Thy waters to the sea; + But thou, great handiwork of God, + Art grandest unto me, + Canada, my land. + + More glorious records may adorn + The annals of the past + Than those which tell the rise and growth + Of thy dominion vast; + But I am proudest of the land + In which my lot is cast, + Canada, my land. + + Beneath thy green or snow-clad sod + My fathers' ashes lie; + Thou hast my all, to thee I'm bound + By every dearest tie; + For thee I'll gladly live, for thee + I cheerfully would die, + Canada, my land. + + + + + FORWARD, CANADA! + + Northland of our birth and rearing, + Bound to us by ties endearing,-- + Forward ever, nothing fearing! + Forward, Canada! + + Hear thy children's acclamations! + Vanquish trials and vexations! + Higher rise among the nations! + Forward, Canada! + + Not by battles fierce and gory, + Not by conquest's hollow glory, + Need'st thou live in deathless story: + Forward, Canada! + + Not by might and not by power,--- + Truth shall be thy fortress tower; + Arts of peace shall be thy flower: + Forward, Canada! + + Yet if tyrant foe should ever + 'Gainst thee come with base endeavor, + Strike, and yield thy freedom never: + Forward, Canada! + + + + + CANADIAN-BORN. + + Although I'm not unduly proud, + Inordinately vain, + But humble, as will be allowed, + And modest in the main; + I must confess to pride of birth, + And all detractors warn + To let alone one land on earth: + I am Canadian-born. + + In one respect I fill the bill + As well as any man + Between Vancouver and Brazil, + Morocco and Japan. + From Hobart Town to Hammerfest, + From Greenland to the Horn, + My native land is much the best: + I am Canadian-born. + + The Greeks beside their Hellespont + Thought all but they were scum; + The Latins loved the classic vaunt, + "Civis Romanus sum." + I'm not so impudent as they + To hold the world in scorn, + But have a better boast to-day, + "I am Canadian-born." + + My land is beauty's flag unfurled, + A garden of increase, + The crowning wonder of the world, + Creation's masterpiece; + And deathless deed and kingly name + Her chronicles adorn; + I'm pardonably proud to claim + I am Canadian-born. + + I love her cities old and new, + Her crested mountain-chains, + Her lakes and rivers fair to view, + Her meadows and her plains, + Her tented fields of yellow sheaves, + Her spears of towering corn, + Her forests with their maple leaves: + I am Canadian-born. + + I love her verdant springtime sweet, + Her autumn red and gold; + I love her summer's tropic heat, + Her winter's arctic cold, + The splendor of her evening glow, + The glory of her morn; + And day and night I love to know + I am Canadian-born. + + All honor to her pioneers, + The gallant sons of France; + All honor to their British peers, + Who aided her advance; + To workers like the great Champlain, + And Dufferin and Lorne, + And those who could take up the strain, + "I am Canadian-born." + + Here my allotted time I'd live + And play my little part, + My service here to Nature give, + To Industry and Art; + Here pluck life's roses when I may, + And when I feel the thorn + Look up with fortitude and say, + "I am Canadian-born." + + And should unfriendly circumstance + (Which Providence forbid!) + Decree that from my latest glance + My country should be hid, + Ah, then 'twill ease my parting sigh + And cheer my heart forlorn, + To think, wherever I may die, + I am Canadian-born. + + + + + KNOW'ST THOU THE LAND? + + Know'st thou the land where the pious and bold + Beared Christianity's emblem of old, + And civilization's beneficent reign + Extended o'er anarchy's savage domain? + The land of the dauntless explorers who prest + Upstream, through the wilderness, into the West? + Know'st thou the land of the soldier and knight, + The land of adventure and toil and delight? + Know'st thou the land? + Know'st thou the land? + 'Tis the land of my home, my beloved native land. + + Know'st thou the land where the Briton and Gaul, + In courage and prowess supreme over all, + Contending for lordship and vying for place, + Collided and locked in a mighty embrace + So bravely that fame has awarded the palm + Of deathless renown to both Wolfe and Montcalm? + Know'st thou the land for which heroes have died, + The land of the strong and the true and the tried? + + Know'st thou the land of the broad maple tree? + The noblest and best of his fellows is he: + He grows in the meadow, the grove and the wood; + His trunk is for timber, his sap is for food; + His boughs are for fire in the cold winter days; + His leaves are for shade from the summer sun's blaze. + Know'st thou the land of the maple benign, + The land of the elm and the oak and the pine? + + Know'st thou the land where the great inland seas + Are tossed by the tempest or fanned by the breeze; + The land of Superior's crystalline tide, + Of Huron's exuberant vigor and pride, + Of Erie's alluring voluptuous glance, + Ontario's laughing Elysian expanse? + Know'st thou the land that is praised evermore + By the chant of their surge and Niagara's roar? + + Know'st thou the land of the clear-flowing streams + That mirror the stars and reflect the sun's beams? + Through the woods and the farmland they wander at large, + And the deer and the kine come to drink at their marge; + They flash in the distance like ribands of white; + Their trout-haunted pools are the angler's delight. + Know'st thou the land of the rivers and rills, + The boon of the lowlands, the joy of the hills? + + Know'st thou the land where St. Lawrence proceeds + By cities and hamlets and blossoming meads + And islands and waters of lesser degree, + With his tribute to pour in the lap of the sea? + His shining battalions he halts to deploy, + Or leaps through the rapid with turbulent joy. + Know'st thou the land that he laves in his flow, + Where deep-laden argosies royally go? + + Know'st thou the land of the mountains that rise + Till their summits are lost in the depths of the skies? + Their granite foundations are far underground, + Where the gold and the coal and the iron abound; + And the sun on their white-headed majesty flings + The radiance of crowns and the purple of kings. + Know'st thou the land of these citadels tall, + With their ramparts and battlements, wall upon wall? + + Know'st thou the land where the ice and the snow + On all things a magical beauty bestow? + Then the earth is a bride and the tingling air wine, + The frosty sky sparkles, the Pleiades shine, + And the bright "merry dancers" in gorgeous array, + Like ghosts of dead sunbeams, come forth to their play. + Know'st thou the land of the sleigh-bells, the land + Of the warm fireside and the welcoming hand? + + Know'st thou the land where kind Nature has given + In earth's beauty and grandeur a foretaste of heaven; + Where History lingers, enthralled with the view + Of as splendid exploits as the world ever knew; + Where Industry reaps the rewards of her toil + In the wealth of the cities, the fruits of the soil? + Know'st thou the land which the Muses regard, + The land of the sculptor, the singer, the bard? + + Know'st thou the land where the spell of the past + Is over the mind irresistibly cast; + Where the present fulfills the fond hopes of the years, + The dreams of romancers, the visions of seers, + Where the future inspires with a prospect sublime, + Maturing the fairest fruition of time? + Know'st thou this land of Heaven's favor possest, + The fortunate land of a destiny blest? + Know'st thou the land? + Know'st thou the land? + 'Tis the land of my home, my belov'd native land. + + + + + O MAPLE LEAF! + + Thee best of leaves I love, + In forest or in grove, + O Maple Leaf; + O thou which art the sign + Of this dear land of mine, + What loveliness is thine, + O Maple Leaf! + + Naught can with thee compare, + On earth or in the air, + O Maple Leaf; + Wondrous thy beauties are; + Thy form is like a star, + But thou art not afar, + O Maple Leaf. + + When drops of dew adorn + Thy surface in the morn, + O Maple Leaf, + No hue so fair is seen, + In silk or satin's sheen, + As thy rich shade of green, + O Maple Leaf. + + No music in my ear + Is half so sweet to hear, + O Maple Leaf, + As that which thou dost make + When winds of summer shake + The branches of the brake, + O Maple Leaf. + + Most beautiful in pain, + When suns begin to wane, + O Maple Leaf, + Thou never growest old, + But in the time of cold + Thou turnest but to gold, + O Maple Leaf. + + And when the earth expires, + And mute are all her choirs, + O Maple Leaf, + Thy dower thou dost shed + Of tribute, richest red, + Upon her sombre bed, + O Maple Leaf. + + May heaven bless thy land, + And make it strong to stand, + O Maple Leaf; + For it we humbly pray + That God will be its stay, + Now, henceforth, and for aye, + O Maple Leaf. + + + + + DOMINION DAY. + + Where the purple-vestured mountains + Bear their summits crowned with snow, + Haughty lords of all the riches + In the rocks and streams below; + Tow'ring to the azure heavens, + Frowning on the sapphire sea: + There to-day, O wide Dominion, + Thine own children honor thee. + + Where the shadeless, open prairie + Spreads its lone expanse unstirred + By a sound of living creature, + Save the lowing of the herd, + And the half-grown wheat in verdure + Reaches thickly to the knee, + There to-day, O fair Dominion, + Thine own children honor thee. + + Where the south wind from the bushes + The large, luscious berry shakes, + And the commerce of the cities + Meets the traffic of the lakes, + And the thunderous Niag'ra + Sings the pæan of the free: + There to-day, O strong Dominion, + Thine own children honor thee. + + Where the deep, majestic river + Bears upon its solemn tide, + By the haunts of ancient story + And the seats of former pride, + Ocean argosies to markets + Where the world is held in fee: + There to-day, O great Dominion, + Thine own children honor thee. + + Where the stalwart sea-girt peoples + Keep the gateway of the land; + In the meadows of New Brunswick, + On the Nova Scotian strand, + In the Gulf's fair island garden, + Sheltered by the maple tree: + There to-day, O blest Dominion, + Thine own children honor thee. + + In thy cherished mother country, + In thy sister lands afar, + On the burning eastern desert, + Underneath the southern star, + 'Midst the speech of alien races, + Wheresoe'er thy children be, + There to-day, O dear Dominion, + Loyal hearts remember thee. + + + + + CANADA'S EIGHTEEN. + + At Paardeberg they fell, + Within the Orange State; + They did their duty well; + They bravely met their fate. + + A stubborn fight they made + Upon the level plain, + While from the barricade + The bullets poured like rain. + + They fiercely charged the trench; + They took the outer line; + Who saw a visage blench? + Who heard a voice repine? + + They bore the ruthless fire; + But deadly was the cost: + They lived not to retire, + Nor saw their capture lost. + + No lustrous deed they wrought + To prompt the epic pen: + They only bravely fought, + And gave their lives like men. + + And yet no hero's fame + That rings across the seas, + Shall e'er eclipse the name + And memory of these. + + While suns shall rise and set + Upon the fatal scene, + We never shall forget + Our Canada's Eighteen. + + And now, as Britain weaves + The garland of her grief, + We place among the leaves + A blood-red maple leaf. + + + + + DOMINION DAY, 1900. + + Rejoice, O Canada, rejoice, + On this thy natal day; + In East and West lift up thy voice, + And to thy children say: + "Behold me now to stature sprung; + Acclaim my second birth; + A Nation now I stand among + My sisters of the earth." + + The wrath of man doth praise the Lord; + And, glorious be His name, + An Empire, fashioned by the sword + And welded in the flame, + Hath risen o'er the battle-smoke, + And near and far unfurled + Its righteous standard to evoke + Heaven's blessings on the world. + + + + + O CANADA, MON PAYS, MES AMOURS. + + (Title of a French-Canadian song.) + + O Canada, my country and my love, + Held in my heart all other lands above; + To thee to whom my homage should belong + I pay the cheerful tribute of my song, + And swear allegiance as on bended knee, + And vow undying fealty to thee, + O Canada, my country and my love. + + I crave no land of epic story cast + In giant shadows on the misty past; + No land illustrious in former time, + Which has outlived the vigor of its prime; + No lordlier land renowned across the sea, + Nor any other land on earth but thee, + O Canada, my country and my love. + + Past is thy night of darkness and of tears; + Thy radiant dawn hath driv'n away our fears; + Thy sun in morning splendor mounts the sky; + Thy hopes, thy aims, thy destinies are high. + God make thee great, as thou art fair and free, + And give thee sons and daughters worthy thee, + O Canada, my country and my love. + + Eternal blessing rest upon thy head! + Abounding Plenty heap thy board with bread! + Justice and Peace upon thy steps attend, + And Virtue be thy guardian and thy friend! + And Righteousness, like thine own maple tree, + Flourish and rear her shelter over thee, + O Canada, my country and my love. + + + + + SOL CANADIEN, TERRE CHERIE. + + (From the French of Isidore Bedard.) + + O soil Canadian, cherished earth, + The brave, the noble, peopled thee; + They left the country of their birth, + And sought a land of liberty. + It was from glorious France they came: + They were the pick of warriors, they; + The shining lustre of their fame + Is kept untarnished till to-day. + + How beautiful thy fields appear! + How much thou hast to give content! + All hail, ye mountains that uprear + Your lordly heights magnificent! + All hail, St. Lawrence' noble tide! + Hail, land by Nature richly deckt! + Thy children's hearts should throb with pride, + Thy sons should walk with head erect. + + Still honor the protecting hand + Of Albion, friend of the opprest; + And harbor no malicious band + Of traitors nourished in thy breast. + Yield never in the storm, be brave; + Thine only masters are thy laws; + Thou wast not made to be a slave; + Fear not, thy rights are Britain's cause. + + If that belov'd, protecting hand + Should ever fail thee, undismay'd + Stand by thyself, alone, my land, + Rejecting, scorning foreign aid. + From glorious France thy founders came; + They were the pick of warriors, they: + The shining lustre of their fame + Unsullied shall be kept for aye. + + + + + MY OWN CANADIAN GIRL. + + The demoiselles of sunny France + Have gaiety and grace; + Britannia's maids a tender glance, + A sweet and gentle face; + Columbia's virgins bring to knee + Full many a duke and earl; + But there is none can equal thee, + My own Canadian girl. + + Thy hair is finer than the floss + That tufts the ears of corn; + Its tresses have a silken gloss, + A glory like the morn; + I prize the rich, luxuriant mass, + And each endearing curl + A special grace and beauty has, + My own Canadian girl. + + Thy brow is like the silver moon + That sails in summer skies, + The mirror of a mind immune + From care, serene and wise, + Thy nose is sculptured ivory; + Thine ears are lobes of pearl; + Thy lips are corals from the sea, + My own Canadian girl. + + Thine eyes are limpid pools of light, + The windows of thy soul; + The stars are not so clear and bright + That shine around the pole. + The crimson banners of thy cheeks + To sun and wind unfurl; + Thy tongue makes music when it speaks, + My own Canadian girl. + + God keep thee fair and bright and good + As in thy morning hour, + And make thy gracious womanhood + A still unfolding flow'r. + And stay thy thoughts from trifles vain, + Thy feet from folly's whirl, + And guard thy life from every stain, + My own Canadian girl! + + + + + THE ST. LAWRENCE. + + Though like Ulysses, fam'd of old, + I travell'd, or the wandering Jew, + No nobler sight could I behold + Than one which daily meets my view, + This mighty stream, my country's pride, + St. Lawrence' broad, majestic tide. + + By Babylonia's waters, 'mong + Unwonted scenes, disconsolate, + Their harps upon the willows hung, + The Jewish exiles weeping sate, + Recall'd the river of their land, + And yearn'd to tread its winding strand. + + When stern Elisha bade him lave + Seven times in Jordan and be clean, + His Syrian upland's flashing wave + Seem'd better to the Damascene. + "Albana, Pharpar far excel," + He said, "the streams of Israel." + + In India Ganges was rever'd, + In Egypt worshipp'd was the Nile, + To Romans Tiber was endear'd + From Apennine to Sacred Isle; + And Rhine and Danube, Thames and Rhone + A people's votive love have known. + + And we to this imposing flood + A cordial homage needs must pay, + Who in the solemn night have stood + Upon its banks, and day by day + Been fill'd with gladness to behold + Its floor of silver flush'd with gold. + + It brings the nations to our marts, + It bears our commerce to the sea, + Has virtue, too, to cleanse our hearts, + And make our spirits strong and free; + It flows, our struggling lives to bless, + With volume, grace and cheerfulness. + + + + + ST. LAWRENCE AND THE COMING SHIPS. + + I cannot loiter on my way, + The ice is drifting through Belle Isle, + And far to seaward by Cape Ray + Broad leagues of open water smile. + Unheeded now, the inland barge + Creeps heavily, the fisher dips + His meshes in my brimming marge; + I go to meet the coming ships. + + They steam from Thames by Dover Strait, + They cleave the Bristol Channel's tide, + They pass the Mersey's thronging gate, + And issue from the crowded Clyde. + Out past the homing craft they sheer, + The Irish coastline by them slips; + Ere many days they will be here: + I go to meet the coming ships. + + Full-fraught with wealth of merchandise, + They plough the main with furrows deep; + Upon the waves they sink and rise, + But onward, onward ever keep. + And some a viewless message send, + Whose airy flight their speed outstrips; + And all their yearnings hither tend: + I go to meet the coming ships. + + I tarry not by fortress old, + Nor pause by any pleasant shore, + But hasten, eager to behold + Those brave leviathans once more, + To welcome them with parted banks, + And kiss their prows with loving lips, + And soothingly caress their flanks; + I go to meet the coming ships. + + + + + THE QUEBEC EXODUS. + + Why should we leave the soil our fathers cleared, + And lifelong tilled with patient, loving hands? + Why should we leave the homes our fathers reared, + And seek strange dwellings in unhallowed lands? + Why should we leave the shrines where they revered + Their guardian God, and break the golden bands + That bind us to the ashes of our sires, + Their haunts, their hearthstones and their altar-fires? + + Is it that now no longer from our doors + The forest stretches with its gloom profound? + That they who first set foot upon these shores + Increase and multiply and hedge us round, + Co-heritors of the exhaustless stores + Of natural wealth that more and more abound?-- + Because of brethren of a differing speech, + From whom we learn, and whom perhaps we teach? + + It was not thus our conquering race arose; + It was not thus our copious language grew: + The Saxon mingled with his Celtic foes, + The Norman brought to both a spirit new. + Not thus we read th' heroic tale of those + Who built the younger Britains o'er the blue: + 'Twas here and there a handful in the earth, + Prevailing, not by numbers, but by worth. + + + + + HEAT. + + The fickle sun that had the earth caress'd + And quickened all her amorous desire, + And brought fresh roses to adorn her breast, + Now spurned her in the madness of his ire; + A haze of heat half hid the mountain's crest; + The very river seemed of liquid fire; + The air was flame, the town a stifling pale, + And all the land was like a Hinnom's Vale. + + I thought of Hagar and what she endured, + Faint in the desert, driv'n from Sara's sight; + Of angry Jonah underneath his gourd, + Grown in a night and withered in a night; + Of the sun-stricken lad Elisha cured + For the good, hospitable Shunammite; + And of the fiery furnace made to glow + For Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. + + I called to mind Boccaccio's tale of her + Left on a sun-scorched roof, and like to die; + And I beheld the Ancient Mariner + Becalmed beneath his hot and copper sky; + And heard a long-forgotten traveller + Speak from a page which made my childhood sigh, + And tell of horrid climes by God accurst, + And men and horses perishing of thirst. + + And to myself I said, Is this the land + Where freezing cold claims sometimes half the year? + Is this the region where the streams are spanned + With floors of azure crystal, hard and clear, + And all the snow-enveloped mountains stand + Like hoary chiefs, majestic and austere? + Was't here we saw so late King Winter stern? + And will he shortly here again return? + + + + + INVOCATION TO SUMMER. + + Come, Summer, come, nor in the south delay; + We do thee honor with a longer day; + We prize thee more, we better know thy worth; + We hold thee dearer in the truer north: + Come, Summer, come. + + Come, Summer, come, and in the early dawn + Find sparkling dewdrops on the fragrant lawn; + Hush all before thy majesty at noon, + And hallow the long evening hours; come soon, + Come, Summer, come. + + Come, Summer, come, make meadow grasses long; + Make all the groves exuberant with song, + The pasture corners canopy with shades, + And thickly roof the silent forest glades: + Come, Summer, come. + + Come, Summer, come, and with thy magic breath + Make consummation of the death of death; + Complete the work of thy sweet sister, Spring; + Life more abundantly give everything: + Come, Summer, come. + + + + + SIR SUMMER. + + When conquering Summer stalks the street, + His eyes are eyes of fire, + The pavement burns beneath his feet, + Men droop before his ire; + But yonder, out upon the land, + His manners are not these: + He is a courtier mild and bland + Beneath the maple trees. + + He throws his buckler on the grass, + Unclasps his sheathèd blade; + He doffs his helmet and cuirass, + And lounges in the shade; + His pennon, fastened to a bough, + Is fluttering in the breeze: + He is at home and happy now + Beneath the maple trees. + + No furious rage disturbs his breast, + No fever heats his brain; + Right cheerily he takes his rest, + And views his glad domain; + His lady seated by his side, + His children on his knees, + His heart expands with joy and pride + Beneath the maple trees. + + He hears the happy farmer folk + Who toss the fragrant hay; + Blessings upon him they invoke, + And beg of him to stay. + The music of the feathered choirs, + The murmur of the bees, + Are sounds of which he never tires + Beneath the maple trees. + + He hums a sweet, melodious tune, + His hand a garland weaves, + He talks the while he feasts at noon, + His laughter shakes the leaves. + He tells of conquests in the south, + Of triumphs overseas, + Of realms redeemed and deeds of drouth, + Beneath the maple trees. + + He shouts and holds his jolly sides, + And strikes his lusty thigh, + To think of how Sir Winter hides + His face when he is nigh, + Or how with city exquisites + His swagger disagrees: + Thus glad Sir Summer gaily sits + Beneath the maple trees. + + I know where I can find his bower + Upon a wooded hill, + Where I can pluck his favorite flower, + And bathe within his rill; + And thither I will take my flight, + And loiter at my ease, + And pay my homage to the Knight + Beneath the maple trees. + + + + + THE NIGHT. + + A tremor, a quiver, + Through her ran + As over the river + The dawn began. + She drew her veil + Over her eyes, + And her face grew pale, + As she watched the sun rise. + She faded, turned + To a ghost, was gone, + As the morning burned + And the day came on. + With veiled, sad eye, + And face still wan, + She waited nigh + When the dusk began. + With her tears of bliss + The earth was wet, + And soothed with her kiss, + When the sun had set. + And with stately pride + She sat on the throne + Of her empire wide + When the day had gone; + And her robes she spread + With their sable hem, + And crowned her head + With her diadem. + And the mute earth saw + That a Queen was she, + And gazed with awe + On her majesty. + + + + + TO BEAUTY. + + Beauty, beloved of all gentle hearts + And pure, and cherished of the gifted tribe + Whose skill to canvas and even stone imparts + Such things as words are powerless to describe. + And bards, who woo thee in the silent shade + And dote upon thee under moonlit skies, + And lovers, who behold thee new-array'd, + As our first parents did in Paradise! + + These all have been thy priests. In times remote, + In Athens and the cool Thessalian dells, + They sung thy liturgy with dulcet note, + And quaff'd thy chalice from the sacred wells + Of leafy Helicon. Beneath the brows + Of fam'd Olympus and among the isles + Of the Aegean sea they paid their vows, + And read thy lore in Nature's frowns and smiles. + + Nor strange to Zion's sanctuaried hill + Wast thou, embalmer of the holy page; + Ambrosial odors from thy garments fill + The garden where the amorous royal sage + Walk'd and discours'd with his beloved; there + Alluring in thy soft and sumptuous dress: + And to his kinglier sire supremely fair, + Companion sweet of meek-ey'd Holiness. + + Thou hast no local temple, no set shrine; + Thou art diffus'd o'er earth and sky and sea; + In every land a thousand haunts are thine, + Spirits of every race respond to thee. + Here thy Olympus and thy Zion hill, + Thy silvery Aegean, I survey; + Thy majesty and loveliness at will + I view, and own thy tranquilizing sway. + + + + + THE DOCTOR. + + He bent above our darling's bed + When her life was ebbing low, + And in his serious look we read + The truth we feared to know. + + We knew a slender thread was all + That held her now; we saw + The dark, portentous shadow fall, + And near and nearer draw. + + Our hopes were centred all in him; + We stood with bated breath + As, pitiful and calm and grim, + He fought and fought with Death. + + We hung upon the desperate fight, + And saw in him combined + The tiger's stealth, the lion's might, + The man's superior mind. + + We saw the fearful hate he bore + His old, relentless foe, + His beautiful compassion for + The one we cherished so. + + No mortal ever waged alone + A conflict so severe; + The high-souled, stainless champion + Finds heavenly succor near. + + Legions of angels to his aid + His pure devotion brought; + Celestial strength his spirit swayed; + 'Twas Life that in him fought. + + The awful stillness of the night! + The long and bitter hours!-- + It seemed that Time had stayed his flight + To watch the battling pow'rs. + + And ere the ghastly night had fled + He conquered in the strife, + And gently took the slender thread, + And drew her back to life. + + + + + MY VALENTINE. + + O Dorothy, sweet Dorothy, + You make my heart rejoice; + Your presence is like Arcady, + There's music in your voice; + Heaven's purity is on your brow, + Its light is in your eyne; + I love you, and I ask you now + To be my Valentine. + + Your face is like the lily in + The morning's ruddy light; + Your dimpled cheeks and tiny chin + Are blessings to my sight; + Your lips are fairer than the rose + And redder far than wine; + Your teeth are whiter than the snows: + You'll be my Valentine! + + You are not quite so old as I, + You've seen but summers three; + And that's no doubt the reason why + You are not coy with me. + I'll come to you to-morrow, + And on chocolates we'll dine; + And you'll have no thought of sorrow + When you are my Valentine. + + + + + MY FRIENDS. + + "My never-failing friends are they, + With whom I converse day by day." + --_Southey_. + + + Some to and fro for converse flit + And on their friends intrude, + Or shun society and sit + In cheerless solitude; + But I can sit, when night descends, + At home among a thousand friends. + + The garish day is left behind, + The scurry and the din; + The hours of toil are out of mind, + As if they had not been. + No thought of morrow that impends + Comes in between me and my friends. + + We reck not of the flight of time, + To them a subject strange; + They pass their days in a sublime + Indifference to change: + Theirs is the life that never ends; + Immortal beings are my friends. + + They toil not, neither do they spin; + Yet none is meanly drest; + And some are clad in costly skin, + And some in silken vest; + And everyone who sees commends + The decent habits of my friends. + + And some are short, and some are tall; + Some portly, and some spare; + Here is a group of pygmies small, + A Tom Thumb family; there + A Brobdingnagian row extends, + The best-informed among my friends. + + Wot one among them all is low, + A fellow to be spurned; + And none is ever rude, although + Their backs are often turned. + No observation that offends + Is dropped by any of my friends. + + And some are steeped in classic lore; + Some brim with wisdom sage; + And some can trace a far-off shore, + Or paint a former age; + And each his talent freely lends, + For talented are all my friends. + + Some tell of deeds and lives sublime + And triumphs over foes; + Some weave a spell of lofty rhyme, + Some charm with stately prose; + And here and there a mind unbends + Familiarly among my friends. + + In diction antiquated, quaint, + Or with a modern sound, + They speak their thoughts without restraint, + Although they're mostly bound; + And cease to speak when none attends, + A valued feature of my friends. + + Although they shun the thoughtless crowd, + The frivolous disdain, + Their titles have not made them proud, + Nor all their pages vain; + No common mortal less pretends, + None can be opener than my friends. + + They care not that they've all been cut, + A number by myself, + And often taken down, and put + As often on the shelf; + My estimation makes amends + For such ill-treatment of my friends. + + An ever-fresh, unfailing source + Of thought and sympathy, + What hours of goodly intercourse + They have afforded me! + I cannot doubt that heaven still sends + Us angels while I have my friends. + + If he who sits at home in gloom, + Or rushes here and there, + Will put a bookshelf in his room + And furnish it with care, + He'll bless the evenings that he spends + With such companions as my friends. + + + + + NOTHING TOO GOOD FOR THE IRISH. + + It's the Emerald Isle is the beautiful land: + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + O'er the whole of it, Nature, at heaven's command, + Has scattered her charms with a prodigal hand + From Skibbereen town to the Donegal strand; + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + And it's many a hero the Irish can claim: + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + "Red Hugh" put his country's invaders to shame; + Owen Roe was a fighter they never could tame; + As a nation the Irish have glory and fame; + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + And the Irish are noted for piety, too: + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + In the far-away time before Brian Boru, + The faith by Saint Patrick was planted and grew, + And the "Island of Saints" has had saints not a few: + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + And the best of all orators Irishmen are: + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + The voice of Columba was heard from afar, + Burke's eloquence rolled like a conquering car, + And the name of O'Connell's a radiant star; + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + And the Irishman always is witty, of course; + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + And his wit is as genial and kind as its source; + It never leaves anyone feeling the worse; + He makes bulls, but a good Irish bull's a white horse; + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + You are thinking, no doubt, to the race I belong: + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + You think I am Irish, but that's where you're wrong; + I am Scotch, but our love for the Irish is strong; + We gave them a saint and we'll give them a song; + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + + + + AN ENGLISH TOAST. + + The English soil!--'tis hallowed ground: + Its restless children roam + The world, but they have never found + So dear a land as home; + Their passion for its hills and downs + Nor space nor time can spoil; + A golden mist of memory crowns + The good old English soil. + + The English race!--its pluck and pith, + Its power to stay and win,-- + Wise Alfred's, dauntless Harold's kith, + And Coeur de Lion's kin! + Sir Philip Sidney, Hampden, Noll, + Who sat in kingly place! + Wolfe, Nelson, Wellington and all + The good old English race! + + The English speech!--the copious tongue, + Terse, vivid, plastic, fit, + Which Chaucer, Spenser loved and sung, + Which gave us Holy Writ; + Which Shakespeare, Milton used, to write, + Which Taylor used, to preach, + And Pitt, to speak, as we to-night-- + The good old English speech! + + "St. George and Merrie England!"--still + The stirring phrase imparts + Warmth to the blood, and sends a thrill + Through more than English hearts. + God save Old England by His grace! + We all alike beseech, + Who know the English soil or race + And speak the English speech. + + + + + THE SCOT. + + That no Scotsman is perfect, we freely confess, + Nor has been since the time of the fall; + Yet we think, notwithstanding and nevertheless, + He is "nae sheep-shank bane," after all. + "Sic excellent pairts" as he has will atone + For the lack of a tittle or jot; + And, although we don't boast, it is very well known + For some things you must go to a Scot. + + If you want a sweet song that comes straight from the heart + Of a man who had few for his peers, + An approved son of genius and master of art. + And a lover, with laughter and tears; + A song that gives honor to personal worth, + And ennobles the lowliest lot, + And makes brothers of all who inhabit the earth; + You must go "for a' that" to a Scot. + + If you want a good story, entrancingly told, + By a genuine king of the pen, + A right royal dispenser of things new and old, + And a faithful portrayer of men; + A tale that will brighten your work and your play, + And will do what some others do not,-- + Give you knowledge and wisdom and heart for the fray; + You will go to Sir Walter, the Scot. + + If you want the high spirit that scorns to make truce + With a foeman on suppliant knee, + The untameable will of a Wallace or Bruce, + Or the dash of a Bonnie Dundee; + Fierce courage that nothing on earth can subdue, + Sense of honor that shrinks from a blot, + Inexhaustible loyalty, loving and true, + You will find them to-day in a Scot. + + If you want an intense love of country and kin, + An attachment as tender as strong, + That can gar the blood leap when the pipers begin, + And the tear start at sound of a song; + A grand patriotic devotion and pride, + That makes sanctified ground of the spot + Where a Scotsman for freedom has suffered and died; + You will find what you want in a Scot. + + If you want a hale-bodied and clear-headed chiel, + Independent and honest and good, + With a hand that can do and a heart that can feel, + And tenacious of purpose--and shrewd; + Whose thrift makes the face of prosperity smile, + Who's contented with what he has got, + But is ready and careful to add to his pile; + You may find what you want in a Scot. + + Gin ye wush a douce body, auldfarrant and gash, + Unco' waukrife and couthie and braw, + Ower eydent wi' daft clishmaclavers to fash, + Or to thole whigmaleeries ava; + Mak's nae collieshangie wad fley a bit flee, + But is siccer and dour as a stot; + Tak's the scone and the kebbuck and carries the gree; + Ye'll be spierin', gude faith! for a Scot. + + +GLOSSARY.--"Nae sheep-shank bane" (Burns), no unimportant person; +"gars," makes; "chiel," fellow; "gin," if; "wush," wish; "douce," +sober; "auldfarrant," wise; "gash," sagacious; "unco," uncommonly; +"waukrife," wideawake; "couthie," kindly; "braw," handsome; "ower," +over; "eydent," busy; "daft," foolish; "clishmaclavers," idle talk; +"fash," trouble; "thole," bear; "whigmaleeries," crotchets; "ava," at +all; "collieshangie," commotion; "fley," disturb; "siccer," steady; +"dour," stubborn; "stot," ox; "scone," a cake; "kebbuck," a cheese; +"carries the gree" (Burns), has the pre-eminence; "spierin'," inquiring. + + + + + THE ROARIN' GAME. + + The roarin' game, the roarin' game, + From Scotland's bonnie land it came, + The land of loch and firth and ben, + And comely dames and stalwart men; + It crossed the broad Atlantic tide + With Scots who came to dwell this side, + And bring our country wealth and fame, + The roarin' game, the roarin' game. + + The roarin' game, the roarin' game + Makes every land to Scotsmen "hame"; + Where'er the winter's breath congeals + The water, see the sturdy "chiels" + With "stane" and besom play and sweep, + Intently gaze, and shout and leap, + With genial fervor all aflame:-- + The roarin' game, the roarin' game. + + The roarin' game, the roarin' game, + Though stupid folk may think it tame, + Affect the smile that wisdom casts + On rattle-brained enthusiasts, + And jest in condescending tones + Of boys and marbles, men and stones; + 'Tis fine enjoyment just the same, + The roarin' game, the roarin' game. + + The roarin' game, the roarin' game + Its meed of praise may justly claim: + As firm as ice upon the pond + It is of hearts a brother bond; + It trains us to be wise and true + In all we undertake to do, + And fits for every higher aim, + The roarin' game, the roarin' game, + + The roarin' game, the roarin' game + Will never give us cause for shame, + No shattered nerves and aching heads, + Bad consciences and nameless dreads, + But health and strength and minds serene + And kindly hearts and friendly mien: + No honest tongue will e'er defame + The roarin' game, the roarin' game. + + + + + THE OLD SCOTTISH MINISTER. + + A man he was of Scottish race, + And ancient Scottish name; + Of common mould, but lofty mien, + That dignified his frame. + And he lived a humble, quiet life, + Obscure, unknown to fame; + God's glory and the good of man + His constant, only aim: + Like a fine old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + He dearly loved his gentle wife, + As everyone could tell; + And watched his children as they grew, + Lest any ill befell; + And as he looked upon his boys + His bosom oft would swell; + For he reared them in the fear of God, + And ruled his household well: + Like a true old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + A father, too, he was to all + His congregation there: + To all he felt a father's love, + And showed a father's care: + He wisely counselled them with speech, + And pled for them in prayer; + And ever for the needy ones + He something had to spare: + Like a kind old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + The servant of the Lord he was, + In hovel and in hall,-- + The high ambassador of heaven + Whom earth could not enthrall; + Like Christ among the wedding guests, + Or by the funeral pall; + And he made his daily life sublime, + A pattern unto all: + Like a grand old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + For truth and righteousness and love + His voice was ever heard; + And minds were kindled into thought, + And consciences were stirred, + And weary, heavy-laden hearts + To faith and hope were spurred, + As from the pulpit he proclaimed + The everlasting Word: + Like a faithful Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + And when, amid his elders grave, + Extended in a line + Beside the table of the Lord, + He kept the rite divine, + His face with a rapt, unearthly look + Was seen to strangely shine, + As he broke the white, symbolic bread, + And passed the sacred wine: + Like a saintly Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + His lot was hard, his task severe; + He found the burden light: + When darkly o'er his pathway hung + The shadows of the night, + His heart was steadfast, for he walked + By faith, and not by sight; + And ran triumphantly his course, + And fought a goodly fight: + Like a brave old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + And when upon a summer's day + He laid him down to die, + He called his household to his side + Without a moan or sigh, + And blessed his children each in turn, + And said a fond good-bye, + And then consigned his soul to God, + And went to live on high: + Like a good old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + + + + THE MACS. + + There's a race, or a part of a race, if you will, + Of renown prehistoric, and vigorous still, + Who back from their fastnesses scornfully hurl'd + The redoubtable legions that trampled the world; + They repelled, and they only, the Roman attacks, + The stalwart, courageous, impetuous Macs. + + When the red-bearded pirates, the Saxons and Danes + And Angles, came swarming across the sea plains, + And the old British stock to exterminate tried, + Caledonia and Erin their efforts defied; + And the conquering Normans were glad to make tracks + From the Macs and the Mics (who are properly Macs). + + Their proud patronymics, they rightfully hold, + Proclaim them descended from heroes of old.-- + Illustrious titles that throw in the shade + The dukedoms and earldoms but yesterday made; + And even the King with his royalty lacks + A lineage as ancient as that of the Macs. + + They are old and yet young, with a spirit possest + By the dream of the East and the hope of the West; + The earth is their country, the race is their kin; + In populous cities their guerdon they win, + And in gold miners' cabins and lumbermen's shacks + You will find the ubiquitous, venturesome Macs. + + Distinguished they've been with the sword and the pen; + In pulpit and parliament, leaders of men; + Prime ministers, presidents, merchants, viziers, + They have manag'd the business of both hemispheres; + And the Dago day-laborers laying the tracks + Are boss'd by the Macs or the Mics (who are Macs). + + 'Twas thought by the ancients that Atlas upbore + The sphere on his shoulders--'tis thought so no more; + Prometheus and Atlas and all of their kith, + The Titans, are now but a fable, a myth. + The men who are bearing the world on their backs + Are the Macs and the Mics (who are mixed with the Macs). + + + + + THE PARSON AT THE HOCKEY MATCH. + + It's very disagreeable to sit here in the cold, + And a sinful waste of time--ah, well, it's too late now to scold; + I'll think about my sermon and my prayers for Sunday next, + And the young folks may be happy--let me see--what was my text? + But what a throng of people--an immortal soul in each: + With such an audience this would be a splendid place to preach. + I'd have the pulpit half-way down--what ice! without a smirch! + Here are the men--I wonder if they ever go to church. + "The teams?" Ah, yes, "the forwards, point, and cover-point and goal"; + Thank you, my dear, I understand--is that a lump of coal? + "Rubber?" Ah, yes, "The puck?" just so! One's holding it, I see-- + That fellow with his clothes all on--ah, that's the referee. + What was he whistling for--his dog? Why, they've begun to play; + Well, well, that's rough; I really think we're doing wrong to stay. + It's sickening, deafening; dear! I wish this uproar could be stilled. + I do sincerely trust there'll not be anybody killed. + + It's a wondrous exhibition of alertness, speed, and strength. + I suppose there's not much danger--there's a fellow at full length. + He's up again; that's plucky. Well, the little lad has pluck-- + And now he's master of the ice, possessor of the puck. + He dodges two opponents, but collides with one at last, + A Philistine Goliath--David baffles him and fast + Darts onward o'er the whitening sheet, while from each crowded row + The crazed spectators cheer him on--Look!--has he lost it? No! + He's clear again. Played, played, my boy. I'd like to see him score:-- + (I'll have no voice for Sunday if I shout like this much more)-- + But there his ruthless enemies o'erwhelm him in a shoal-- + Well played, you hero, safely passed. Now for a shot on goal. + Shoot, shoot, you duffer; shoot, you goose, you ass, you great galoot, + You addle-pated idiot, you nincompoop, you--shoot! + You've lost it! Never mind--well tried--that other dash was grand. + Why do they stop? "Off side," you say? I don't quite understand. + That's puzzling. I suppose it's right. I wish they'd not delay. + This is a most provoking interruption to the play. + + "Cold?" Nothing of the sort. I was--I'm heated with the game. + I'm really enjoying it; indeed, I'm glad I came. + I'd like to see both ends at once; I can't from where we sit. + They've scored one yonder--What's the row? A player has been hit? + Such things are bound to happen in a rapid game like this; + They'll soon resume the play, my dear; there's nothing much amiss,-- + Some trifling accident received in a rough body check, + A shoulder dislocated or a fracture of the neck. + Oh, no, it's nothing serious--the game begins again. + They're here, a writhing, struggling mass of half a dozen men + Battling and groaning with the strife, and breathing hard and fast, + Swayed back and forth and stooping low like elms before the blast, + Changing their places like a fleet of vessels tempest-driven + That blindly meet within the waves and part with timbers riven, + Waving their sticks with frantic zeal--But isn't this a sight? + My goodness! I could sit and watch a game like this all night. + There, dirty trousers, there's your chance. Muffed it! Why weren't + you quick? + This is a sight to make the sad rejoice, to heal the sick, + To rouse the drones and give them life to last them half a year-- + Hit him again!--I wish I had my congregation here. + + My stars! and this is hockey. Hockey's the king of sports. + This is the thing to come to when you're feeling out of sorts. + This is the greatest holiday I've had for many weeks. + This helps one to appreciate the feeling of the Greeks. + I understand my Homer now--O Hercules, behold + Yon Trojan giant, he that's cast in an Olympian mould, + Ye gods, he more than doubled up that other stalwart cove-- + Here comes swift-footed Mercury, the messenger of Jove. + Adown the blue, outstripping all, he speeds. Oh, what a spurt! + His shoulders have no wings, but see, he has them on his shirt. + He's broken through the forward line, baffled the cover-point, + Thrown down the other man and knocked their game all out of joint. + And now he rushes on the goal--this makes the senses reel-- + Goal! goal! hurrah! hurrah! well done, men of the winged wheel! + + At last--how soon!--the game is done; I've scarcely drawn a breath. + This getting out is difficult; I'm almost crushed to death. + The cars are packed; how we'll get home I'm sure I do not know. + Here's room for you; get up, my dears; I'll walk; away you go. + + My sermon's gone, but as I walk I cannot help but think + That, after all, perhaps I've found a sermon in the rink. + + This world is an arena with a slippery sheet of ice, + And all have skates and hockey sticks and enter without price. + And seats are round for those who rest--the idle and the old; + But those who are not in the game are apt to find it cold. + Some play defence, some forward, with terrific speed and stress. + The puck keeps flying 'twixt the goals of failure and success, + Now up, now down, across and back, here, there, and everywhere. + + The grit of skates, the crack of sticks, the shouting, fill the air. + Some slip and fall a thousand times and spring up in a trice; + Some go to pieces on their feet and have to leave the ice; + Some play offside, kick, tackle, trip, try every kind of foul; + Some players are forever cheered, some only get a howl. + We seldom hear the whistle of the watchful Referee, + Who mostly lets the game go on as if He didn't see. + No gong rings out half-time to let the players get their breath-- + To most full time comes only with the solemn stroke of death. + The winners are not always those who make the biggest score: + The vanquished oft are victors when the stubborn game is o'er; + For many things are added to make up the grand amount, + And everything is taken at the last into account-- + The sort of sticks we played with, and the way our feet were shod, + For the trophy is Salvation and the Referee is God. + + God prosper our Canadian sports and keep them clean and pure, + Whole-hearted, manly, generous, and let them long endure! + Long live each honest winter sport, each good Canadian game, + To train the youth in lusty health and iron strength of frame, + To make them noble, vigorous, straightforward, ardent, bold, + Nearer a perfect standard than the grandest knights of old. + + Keep in the path of rectitude the young throughout the land, + And guide them ever on their way by thine unerring hand, + Along the slippery path of life in safety toward the goal, + And keep their bodies holy as the temples of the soul: + For the river of the future from the present's fountain runs, + And a nation's hope is founded on the virtue of her sons. + + The glory of a man is strength, Thy wisdom hath declared: + Let strength increase, and strength of frame with strength of will + be paired, + And let these twain go hand in hand with strength of heart and mind, + And strength of character present all forms of strength combined. + Oh, make out strength the strength of men to perfect stature grown, + And use it for thine ends and turn man's glory to thine own. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Canada, My Land, by W. 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M. MacKeracher +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +P.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +P.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +P.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +P.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 50%; + text-align: center } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Canada, My Land, by W. M. MacKeracher + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Canada, My Land + and Other Compositions in Verse + +Author: W. M. MacKeracher + +Release Date: August 21, 2011 [EBook #37155] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADA, MY LAND *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t1"> +CANADA, MY LAND +</P> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +AND OTHER COMPOSITIONS IN VERSE +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +BY +</P> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +W. M. MacKERACHER +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +TORONTO +<BR> +WILLIAM BRIGGS +<BR> +1908 +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +Copyright, Canada, 1908, by W. M. MacKeracher +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +CONTENTS. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#myland">CANADA, MY LAND</A><BR> + There may be more enchanting climes<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#forward">FORWARD, CANADA!</A><BR> + Northland of our birth and rearing<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#born">CANADIAN-BORN</A><BR> + Although I'm not unduly proud<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#knowst">KNOW'ST THOU THE LAND!</A><BR> + Know'st thou the land where the pious and bold<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#maple">O MAPLE LEAF!</A><BR> + Thee best of leaves I love<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#dominion">DOMINION DAY</A><BR> + Where the purple-vestured mountains<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#eighteen">CANADA'S EIGHTEEN</A><BR> + At Paardeberg they fell<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#domday">DOMINION DAY, 1900</A><BR> + Rejoice, O Canada, rejoice<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#monpays">O CANADA, MON PAYS, MES AMOURS</A><BR> + O Canada, my country and my love<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#solcanadien">SOL CANADIEN, TERRE CHERIE</A><BR> + O soil Canadian, cherished earth<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#girl">MY OWN CANADIAN GIRL</A><BR> + The demoiselles of sunny France<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#stlawrence">THE ST. LAWRENCE</A><BR> + Though like Ulysses, fam'd of old<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#ships">ST. LAWRENCE AND THE COMING SHIPS</A><BR> + I cannot loiter on my way<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#exodus">THE QUEBEC EXODUS</A><BR> + Why should we leave the soil our fathers cleared<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#heat">HEAT</A><BR> + The fickle sun that had the earth caress'd<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#summer">INVOCATION TO SUMMER</A><BR> + Come, Summer, come, nor in the south delay<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#sirsummer">SIR SUMMER</A><BR> + When conquering Summer stalks the street<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#night">THE NIGHT</A><BR> + A tremor, a quiver, through her ran<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#beauty">TO BEAUTY</A><BR> + Beauty, belovèd of all gentle hearts<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#doctor">THE DOCTOR</A><BR> + He bent above our darling's bed<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#valentine">MY VALENTINE</A><BR> + O Dorothy, sweet Dorothy<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#friends">MY FRIENDS</A><BR> + Some to and fro for converse flit<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#irish">NOTHING TOO GOOD FOR THE IRISH</A><BR> + It's the Emerald Isle is the beautiful land<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#toast">AN ENGLISH TOAST</A><BR> + The English soil!—'tis hallowed ground<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#scot">THE SCOT</A><BR> + That no Scotsman is perfect, we freely confess<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#game">THE ROARIN' GAME</A><BR> + The roarin' game, the roarin' game<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#minister">THE OLD SCOTTISH MINISTER</A><BR> + A man he was of Scottish race<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#macs">THE MACS</A><BR> + There's a race, or a part of a race, if you will<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#parson">THE PARSON AT THE HOCKEY MATCH</A><BR> + It's very disagreeable to sit here in the cold<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="myland"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> + CANADA, MY LAND. +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +There may be more enchanting climes<BR> + Within a southern zone;<BR> +There may be eastern Edens deckt<BR> + With charms to thee unknown;<BR> +But thou art fairest unto me,<BR> + Because thou art mine own,<BR> + Canada, my land.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +More spacious plains and loftier heights<BR> + In other realms may be,<BR> +And mightier streams than those which bear<BR> + Thy waters to the sea;<BR> +But thou, great handiwork of God,<BR> + Art grandest unto me,<BR> + Canada, my land.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +More glorious records may adorn<BR> + The annals of the past<BR> +Than those which tell the rise and growth<BR> + Of thy dominion vast;<BR> +But I am proudest of the land<BR> + In which my lot is cast,<BR> + Canada, my land.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Beneath thy green or snow-clad sod<BR> + My fathers' ashes lie;<BR> +Thou hast my all, to thee I'm bound<BR> + By every dearest tie;<BR> +For thee I'll gladly live, for thee<BR> + I cheerfully would die,<BR> + Canada, my land.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="forward"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FORWARD, CANADA!<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Northland of our birth and rearing,<BR> +Bound to us by ties endearing,—<BR> +Forward ever, nothing fearing!<BR> + Forward, Canada!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Hear thy children's acclamations!<BR> +Vanquish trials and vexations!<BR> +Higher rise among the nations!<BR> + Forward, Canada!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Not by battles fierce and gory,<BR> +Not by conquest's hollow glory,<BR> +Need'st thou live in deathless story:<BR> + Forward, Canada!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Not by might and not by power,—-<BR> +Truth shall be thy fortress tower;<BR> +Arts of peace shall be thy flower:<BR> + Forward, Canada!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Yet if tyrant foe should ever<BR> +'Gainst thee come with base endeavor,<BR> +Strike, and yield thy freedom never:<BR> + Forward, Canada!<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="born"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CANADIAN-BORN.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Although I'm not unduly proud,<BR> + Inordinately vain,<BR> +But humble, as will be allowed,<BR> + And modest in the main;<BR> +I must confess to pride of birth,<BR> + And all detractors warn<BR> +To let alone one land on earth:<BR> + I am Canadian-born.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +In one respect I fill the bill<BR> + As well as any man<BR> +Between Vancouver and Brazil,<BR> + Morocco and Japan.<BR> +From Hobart Town to Hammerfest,<BR> + From Greenland to the Horn,<BR> +My native land is much the best:<BR> + I am Canadian-born.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The Greeks beside their Hellespont<BR> + Thought all but they were scum;<BR> +The Latins loved the classic vaunt,<BR> + "Civis Romanus sum."<BR> +I'm not so impudent as they<BR> + To hold the world in scorn,<BR> +But have a better boast to-day,<BR> + "I am Canadian-born."<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +My land is beauty's flag unfurled,<BR> + A garden of increase,<BR> +The crowning wonder of the world,<BR> + Creation's masterpiece;<BR> +And deathless deed and kingly name<BR> + Her chronicles adorn;<BR> +I'm pardonably proud to claim<BR> + I am Canadian-born.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I love her cities old and new,<BR> + Her crested mountain-chains,<BR> +Her lakes and rivers fair to view,<BR> + Her meadows and her plains,<BR> +Her tented fields of yellow sheaves,<BR> + Her spears of towering corn,<BR> +Her forests with their maple leaves:<BR> + I am Canadian-born.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I love her verdant springtime sweet,<BR> + Her autumn red and gold;<BR> +I love her summer's tropic heat,<BR> + Her winter's arctic cold,<BR> +The splendor of her evening glow,<BR> + The glory of her morn;<BR> +And day and night I love to know<BR> + I am Canadian-born.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +All honor to her pioneers,<BR> + The gallant sons of France;<BR> +All honor to their British peers,<BR> + Who aided her advance;<BR> +To workers like the great Champlain,<BR> + And Dufferin and Lorne,<BR> +And those who could take up the strain,<BR> + "I am Canadian-born."<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Here my allotted time I'd live<BR> + And play my little part,<BR> +My service here to Nature give,<BR> + To Industry and Art;<BR> +Here pluck life's roses when I may,<BR> + And when I feel the thorn<BR> +Look up with fortitude and say,<BR> + "I am Canadian-born."<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And should unfriendly circumstance<BR> + (Which Providence forbid!)<BR> +Decree that from my latest glance<BR> + My country should be hid,<BR> +Ah, then 'twill ease my parting sigh<BR> + And cheer my heart forlorn,<BR> +To think, wherever I may die,<BR> + I am Canadian-born.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="knowst"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +KNOW'ST THOU THE LAND?<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Know'st thou the land where the pious and bold<BR> +Beared Christianity's emblem of old,<BR> +And civilization's beneficent reign<BR> +Extended o'er anarchy's savage domain?<BR> +The land of the dauntless explorers who prest<BR> +Upstream, through the wilderness, into the West?<BR> +Know'st thou the land of the soldier and knight,<BR> +The land of adventure and toil and delight?<BR> + Know'st thou the land?<BR> + Know'st thou the land?<BR> +'Tis the land of my home, my beloved native land.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Know'st thou the land where the Briton and Gaul,<BR> +In courage and prowess supreme over all,<BR> +Contending for lordship and vying for place,<BR> +Collided and locked in a mighty embrace<BR> +So bravely that fame has awarded the palm<BR> +Of deathless renown to both Wolfe and Montcalm?<BR> +Know'st thou the land for which heroes have died,<BR> +The land of the strong and the true and the tried?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Know'st thou the land of the broad maple tree?<BR> +The noblest and best of his fellows is he:<BR> +He grows in the meadow, the grove and the wood;<BR> +His trunk is for timber, his sap is for food;<BR> +His boughs are for fire in the cold winter days;<BR> +His leaves are for shade from the summer sun's blaze.<BR> +Know'st thou the land of the maple benign,<BR> +The land of the elm and the oak and the pine?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Know'st thou the land where the great inland seas<BR> +Are tossed by the tempest or fanned by the breeze;<BR> +The land of Superior's crystalline tide,<BR> +Of Huron's exuberant vigor and pride,<BR> +Of Erie's alluring voluptuous glance,<BR> +Ontario's laughing Elysian expanse?<BR> +Know'st thou the land that is praised evermore<BR> +By the chant of their surge and Niagara's roar?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Know'st thou the land of the clear-flowing streams<BR> +That mirror the stars and reflect the sun's beams?<BR> +Through the woods and the farmland they wander at large,<BR> +And the deer and the kine come to drink at their marge;<BR> +They flash in the distance like ribands of white;<BR> +Their trout-haunted pools are the angler's delight.<BR> +Know'st thou the land of the rivers and rills,<BR> +The boon of the lowlands, the joy of the hills?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Know'st thou the land where St. Lawrence proceeds<BR> +By cities and hamlets and blossoming meads<BR> +And islands and waters of lesser degree,<BR> +With his tribute to pour in the lap of the sea?<BR> +His shining battalions he halts to deploy,<BR> +Or leaps through the rapid with turbulent joy.<BR> +Know'st thou the land that he laves in his flow,<BR> +Where deep-laden argosies royally go?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Know'st thou the land of the mountains that rise<BR> +Till their summits are lost in the depths of the skies?<BR> +Their granite foundations are far underground,<BR> +Where the gold and the coal and the iron abound;<BR> +And the sun on their white-headed majesty flings<BR> +The radiance of crowns and the purple of kings.<BR> +Know'st thou the land of these citadels tall,<BR> +With their ramparts and battlements, wall upon wall?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Know'st thou the land where the ice and the snow<BR> +On all things a magical beauty bestow?<BR> +Then the earth is a bride and the tingling air wine,<BR> +The frosty sky sparkles, the Pleiades shine,<BR> +And the bright "merry dancers" in gorgeous array,<BR> +Like ghosts of dead sunbeams, come forth to their play.<BR> +Know'st thou the land of the sleigh-bells, the land<BR> +Of the warm fireside and the welcoming hand?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Know'st thou the land where kind Nature has given<BR> +In earth's beauty and grandeur a foretaste of heaven;<BR> +Where History lingers, enthralled with the view<BR> +Of as splendid exploits as the world ever knew;<BR> +Where Industry reaps the rewards of her toil<BR> +In the wealth of the cities, the fruits of the soil?<BR> +Know'st thou the land which the Muses regard,<BR> +The land of the sculptor, the singer, the bard?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Know'st thou the land where the spell of the past<BR> +Is over the mind irresistibly cast;<BR> +Where the present fulfills the fond hopes of the years,<BR> +The dreams of romancers, the visions of seers,<BR> +Where the future inspires with a prospect sublime,<BR> +Maturing the fairest fruition of time?<BR> +Know'st thou this land of Heaven's favor possest,<BR> +The fortunate land of a destiny blest?<BR> + Know'st thou the land?<BR> + Know'st thou the land?<BR> +'Tis the land of my home, my belov'd native land.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="maple"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +O MAPLE LEAF!<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Thee best of leaves I love,<BR> +In forest or in grove,<BR> + O Maple Leaf;<BR> +O thou which art the sign<BR> +Of this dear land of mine,<BR> +What loveliness is thine,<BR> + O Maple Leaf!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Naught can with thee compare,<BR> +On earth or in the air,<BR> + O Maple Leaf;<BR> +Wondrous thy beauties are;<BR> +Thy form is like a star,<BR> +But thou art not afar,<BR> + O Maple Leaf.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +When drops of dew adorn<BR> +Thy surface in the morn,<BR> + O Maple Leaf,<BR> +No hue so fair is seen,<BR> +In silk or satin's sheen,<BR> +As thy rich shade of green,<BR> + O Maple Leaf.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +No music in my ear<BR> +Is half so sweet to hear,<BR> + O Maple Leaf,<BR> +As that which thou dost make<BR> +When winds of summer shake<BR> +The branches of the brake,<BR> + O Maple Leaf.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Most beautiful in pain,<BR> +When suns begin to wane,<BR> + O Maple Leaf,<BR> +Thou never growest old,<BR> +But in the time of cold<BR> +Thou turnest but to gold,<BR> + O Maple Leaf.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And when the earth expires,<BR> +And mute are all her choirs,<BR> + O Maple Leaf,<BR> +Thy dower thou dost shed<BR> +Of tribute, richest red,<BR> +Upon her sombre bed,<BR> + O Maple Leaf.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +May heaven bless thy land,<BR> +And make it strong to stand,<BR> + O Maple Leaf;<BR> +For it we humbly pray<BR> +That God will be its stay,<BR> +Now, henceforth, and for aye,<BR> + O Maple Leaf.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="dominion"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DOMINION DAY.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Where the purple-vestured mountains<BR> + Bear their summits crowned with snow,<BR> +Haughty lords of all the riches<BR> + In the rocks and streams below;<BR> +Tow'ring to the azure heavens,<BR> + Frowning on the sapphire sea:<BR> +There to-day, O wide Dominion,<BR> + Thine own children honor thee.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Where the shadeless, open prairie<BR> + Spreads its lone expanse unstirred<BR> +By a sound of living creature,<BR> + Save the lowing of the herd,<BR> +And the half-grown wheat in verdure<BR> + Reaches thickly to the knee,<BR> +There to-day, O fair Dominion,<BR> + Thine own children honor thee.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Where the south wind from the bushes<BR> + The large, luscious berry shakes,<BR> +And the commerce of the cities<BR> + Meets the traffic of the lakes,<BR> +And the thunderous Niag'ra<BR> + Sings the pæan of the free:<BR> +There to-day, O strong Dominion,<BR> + Thine own children honor thee.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Where the deep, majestic river<BR> + Bears upon its solemn tide,<BR> +By the haunts of ancient story<BR> + And the seats of former pride,<BR> +Ocean argosies to markets<BR> + Where the world is held in fee:<BR> +There to-day, O great Dominion,<BR> + Thine own children honor thee.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Where the stalwart sea-girt peoples<BR> + Keep the gateway of the land;<BR> +In the meadows of New Brunswick,<BR> + On the Nova Scotian strand,<BR> +In the Gulf's fair island garden,<BR> + Sheltered by the maple tree:<BR> +There to-day, O blest Dominion,<BR> + Thine own children honor thee.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +In thy cherished mother country,<BR> + In thy sister lands afar,<BR> +On the burning eastern desert,<BR> + Underneath the southern star,<BR> +'Midst the speech of alien races,<BR> + Wheresoe'er thy children be,<BR> +There to-day, O dear Dominion,<BR> + Loyal hearts remember thee.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="eighteen"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CANADA'S EIGHTEEN.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +At Paardeberg they fell,<BR> + Within the Orange State;<BR> +They did their duty well;<BR> + They bravely met their fate.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A stubborn fight they made<BR> + Upon the level plain,<BR> +While from the barricade<BR> + The bullets poured like rain.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +They fiercely charged the trench;<BR> + They took the outer line;<BR> +Who saw a visage blench?<BR> + Who heard a voice repine?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +They bore the ruthless fire;<BR> + But deadly was the cost:<BR> +They lived not to retire,<BR> + Nor saw their capture lost.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +No lustrous deed they wrought<BR> + To prompt the epic pen:<BR> +They only bravely fought,<BR> + And gave their lives like men.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And yet no hero's fame<BR> + That rings across the seas,<BR> +Shall e'er eclipse the name<BR> + And memory of these.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +While suns shall rise and set<BR> + Upon the fatal scene,<BR> +We never shall forget<BR> + Our Canada's Eighteen.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And now, as Britain weaves<BR> + The garland of her grief,<BR> +We place among the leaves<BR> + A blood-red maple leaf.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="domday"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DOMINION DAY, 1900.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Rejoice, O Canada, rejoice,<BR> + On this thy natal day;<BR> +In East and West lift up thy voice,<BR> + And to thy children say:<BR> +"Behold me now to stature sprung;<BR> + Acclaim my second birth;<BR> +A Nation now I stand among<BR> + My sisters of the earth."<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The wrath of man doth praise the Lord;<BR> + And, glorious be His name,<BR> +An Empire, fashioned by the sword<BR> + And welded in the flame,<BR> +Hath risen o'er the battle-smoke,<BR> + And near and far unfurled<BR> +Its righteous standard to evoke<BR> + Heaven's blessings on the world.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="monpays"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +O CANADA, MON PAYS, MES AMOURS.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +(Title of a French-Canadian song.)<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +O Canada, my country and my love,<BR> +Held in my heart all other lands above;<BR> +To thee to whom my homage should belong<BR> +I pay the cheerful tribute of my song,<BR> +And swear allegiance as on bended knee,<BR> +And vow undying fealty to thee,<BR> +O Canada, my country and my love.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I crave no land of epic story cast<BR> +In giant shadows on the misty past;<BR> +No land illustrious in former time,<BR> +Which has outlived the vigor of its prime;<BR> +No lordlier land renowned across the sea,<BR> +Nor any other land on earth but thee,<BR> +O Canada, my country and my love.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Past is thy night of darkness and of tears;<BR> +Thy radiant dawn hath driv'n away our fears;<BR> +Thy sun in morning splendor mounts the sky;<BR> +Thy hopes, thy aims, thy destinies are high.<BR> +God make thee great, as thou art fair and free,<BR> +And give thee sons and daughters worthy thee,<BR> +O Canada, my country and my love.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Eternal blessing rest upon thy head!<BR> +Abounding Plenty heap thy board with bread!<BR> +Justice and Peace upon thy steps attend,<BR> +And Virtue be thy guardian and thy friend!<BR> +And Righteousness, like thine own maple tree,<BR> +Flourish and rear her shelter over thee,<BR> +O Canada, my country and my love.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="solcanadien"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SOL CANADIEN, TERRE CHERIE.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +(From the French of Isidore Bedard.)<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +O soil Canadian, cherished earth,<BR> + The brave, the noble, peopled thee;<BR> +They left the country of their birth,<BR> + And sought a land of liberty.<BR> +It was from glorious France they came:<BR> + They were the pick of warriors, they;<BR> +The shining lustre of their fame<BR> + Is kept untarnished till to-day.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +How beautiful thy fields appear!<BR> + How much thou hast to give content!<BR> +All hail, ye mountains that uprear<BR> + Your lordly heights magnificent!<BR> +All hail, St. Lawrence' noble tide!<BR> + Hail, land by Nature richly deckt!<BR> +Thy children's hearts should throb with pride,<BR> + Thy sons should walk with head erect.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Still honor the protecting hand<BR> + Of Albion, friend of the opprest;<BR> +And harbor no malicious band<BR> + Of traitors nourished in thy breast.<BR> +Yield never in the storm, be brave;<BR> + Thine only masters are thy laws;<BR> +Thou wast not made to be a slave;<BR> + Fear not, thy rights are Britain's cause.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +If that belov'd, protecting hand<BR> + Should ever fail thee, undismay'd<BR> +Stand by thyself, alone, my land,<BR> + Rejecting, scorning foreign aid.<BR> +From glorious France thy founders came;<BR> + They were the pick of warriors, they:<BR> +The shining lustre of their fame<BR> + Unsullied shall be kept for aye.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="girl"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MY OWN CANADIAN GIRL.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The demoiselles of sunny France<BR> + Have gaiety and grace;<BR> +Britannia's maids a tender glance,<BR> + A sweet and gentle face;<BR> +Columbia's virgins bring to knee<BR> + Full many a duke and earl;<BR> +But there is none can equal thee,<BR> + My own Canadian girl.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Thy hair is finer than the floss<BR> + That tufts the ears of corn;<BR> +Its tresses have a silken gloss,<BR> + A glory like the morn;<BR> +I prize the rich, luxuriant mass,<BR> + And each endearing curl<BR> +A special grace and beauty has,<BR> + My own Canadian girl.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Thy brow is like the silver moon<BR> + That sails in summer skies,<BR> +The mirror of a mind immune<BR> + From care, serene and wise,<BR> +Thy nose is sculptured ivory;<BR> + Thine ears are lobes of pearl;<BR> +Thy lips are corals from the sea,<BR> + My own Canadian girl.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Thine eyes are limpid pools of light,<BR> + The windows of thy soul;<BR> +The stars are not so clear and bright<BR> + That shine around the pole.<BR> +The crimson banners of thy cheeks<BR> + To sun and wind unfurl;<BR> +Thy tongue makes music when it speaks,<BR> + My own Canadian girl.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +God keep thee fair and bright and good<BR> + As in thy morning hour,<BR> +And make thy gracious womanhood<BR> + A still unfolding flow'r.<BR> +And stay thy thoughts from trifles vain,<BR> + Thy feet from folly's whirl,<BR> +And guard thy life from every stain,<BR> + My own Canadian girl!<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="stlawrence"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE ST. LAWRENCE.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Though like Ulysses, fam'd of old,<BR> + I travell'd, or the wandering Jew,<BR> +No nobler sight could I behold<BR> + Than one which daily meets my view,<BR> +This mighty stream, my country's pride,<BR> +St. Lawrence' broad, majestic tide.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +By Babylonia's waters, 'mong<BR> + Unwonted scenes, disconsolate,<BR> +Their harps upon the willows hung,<BR> + The Jewish exiles weeping sate,<BR> +Recall'd the river of their land,<BR> +And yearn'd to tread its winding strand.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +When stern Elisha bade him lave<BR> + Seven times in Jordan and be clean,<BR> +His Syrian upland's flashing wave<BR> + Seem'd better to the Damascene.<BR> +"Albana, Pharpar far excel,"<BR> +He said, "the streams of Israel."<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +In India Ganges was rever'd,<BR> + In Egypt worshipp'd was the Nile,<BR> +To Romans Tiber was endear'd<BR> + From Apennine to Sacred Isle;<BR> +And Rhine and Danube, Thames and Rhone<BR> +A people's votive love have known.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And we to this imposing flood<BR> + A cordial homage needs must pay,<BR> +Who in the solemn night have stood<BR> + Upon its banks, and day by day<BR> +Been fill'd with gladness to behold<BR> +Its floor of silver flush'd with gold.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +It brings the nations to our marts,<BR> + It bears our commerce to the sea,<BR> +Has virtue, too, to cleanse our hearts,<BR> + And make our spirits strong and free;<BR> +It flows, our struggling lives to bless,<BR> +With volume, grace and cheerfulness.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="ships"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ST. LAWRENCE AND THE COMING SHIPS.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I cannot loiter on my way,<BR> + The ice is drifting through Belle Isle,<BR> +And far to seaward by Cape Ray<BR> + Broad leagues of open water smile.<BR> +Unheeded now, the inland barge<BR> + Creeps heavily, the fisher dips<BR> +His meshes in my brimming marge;<BR> + I go to meet the coming ships.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +They steam from Thames by Dover Strait,<BR> + They cleave the Bristol Channel's tide,<BR> +They pass the Mersey's thronging gate,<BR> + And issue from the crowded Clyde.<BR> +Out past the homing craft they sheer,<BR> + The Irish coastline by them slips;<BR> +Ere many days they will be here:<BR> + I go to meet the coming ships.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Full-fraught with wealth of merchandise,<BR> + They plough the main with furrows deep;<BR> +Upon the waves they sink and rise,<BR> + But onward, onward ever keep.<BR> +And some a viewless message send,<BR> + Whose airy flight their speed outstrips;<BR> +And all their yearnings hither tend:<BR> + I go to meet the coming ships.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I tarry not by fortress old,<BR> + Nor pause by any pleasant shore,<BR> +But hasten, eager to behold<BR> + Those brave leviathans once more,<BR> +To welcome them with parted banks,<BR> + And kiss their prows with loving lips,<BR> +And soothingly caress their flanks;<BR> + I go to meet the coming ships.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="exodus"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE QUEBEC EXODUS.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Why should we leave the soil our fathers cleared,<BR> + And lifelong tilled with patient, loving hands?<BR> +Why should we leave the homes our fathers reared,<BR> + And seek strange dwellings in unhallowed lands?<BR> +Why should we leave the shrines where they revered<BR> + Their guardian God, and break the golden bands<BR> +That bind us to the ashes of our sires,<BR> +Their haunts, their hearthstones and their altar-fires?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Is it that now no longer from our doors<BR> + The forest stretches with its gloom profound?<BR> +That they who first set foot upon these shores<BR> + Increase and multiply and hedge us round,<BR> +Co-heritors of the exhaustless stores<BR> + Of natural wealth that more and more abound?—<BR> +Because of brethren of a differing speech,<BR> +From whom we learn, and whom perhaps we teach?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +It was not thus our conquering race arose;<BR> + It was not thus our copious language grew:<BR> +The Saxon mingled with his Celtic foes,<BR> + The Norman brought to both a spirit new.<BR> +Not thus we read th' heroic tale of those<BR> + Who built the younger Britains o'er the blue:<BR> +'Twas here and there a handful in the earth,<BR> +Prevailing, not by numbers, but by worth.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="heat"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HEAT.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The fickle sun that had the earth caress'd<BR> + And quickened all her amorous desire,<BR> +And brought fresh roses to adorn her breast,<BR> + Now spurned her in the madness of his ire;<BR> +A haze of heat half hid the mountain's crest;<BR> + The very river seemed of liquid fire;<BR> +The air was flame, the town a stifling pale,<BR> +And all the land was like a Hinnom's Vale.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I thought of Hagar and what she endured,<BR> + Faint in the desert, driv'n from Sara's sight;<BR> +Of angry Jonah underneath his gourd,<BR> + Grown in a night and withered in a night;<BR> +Of the sun-stricken lad Elisha cured<BR> + For the good, hospitable Shunammite;<BR> +And of the fiery furnace made to glow<BR> +For Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I called to mind Boccaccio's tale of her<BR> + Left on a sun-scorched roof, and like to die;<BR> +And I beheld the Ancient Mariner<BR> + Becalmed beneath his hot and copper sky;<BR> +And heard a long-forgotten traveller<BR> + Speak from a page which made my childhood sigh,<BR> +And tell of horrid climes by God accurst,<BR> +And men and horses perishing of thirst.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And to myself I said, Is this the land<BR> + Where freezing cold claims sometimes half the year?<BR> +Is this the region where the streams are spanned<BR> + With floors of azure crystal, hard and clear,<BR> +And all the snow-enveloped mountains stand<BR> + Like hoary chiefs, majestic and austere?<BR> +Was't here we saw so late King Winter stern?<BR> +And will he shortly here again return?<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="summer"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +INVOCATION TO SUMMER.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Come, Summer, come, nor in the south delay;<BR> +We do thee honor with a longer day;<BR> +We prize thee more, we better know thy worth;<BR> +We hold thee dearer in the truer north:<BR> + Come, Summer, come.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Come, Summer, come, and in the early dawn<BR> +Find sparkling dewdrops on the fragrant lawn;<BR> +Hush all before thy majesty at noon,<BR> +And hallow the long evening hours; come soon,<BR> + Come, Summer, come.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Come, Summer, come, make meadow grasses long;<BR> +Make all the groves exuberant with song,<BR> +The pasture corners canopy with shades,<BR> +And thickly roof the silent forest glades:<BR> + Come, Summer, come.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Come, Summer, come, and with thy magic breath<BR> +Make consummation of the death of death;<BR> +Complete the work of thy sweet sister, Spring;<BR> +Life more abundantly give everything:<BR> + Come, Summer, come.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="sirsummer"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SIR SUMMER.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +When conquering Summer stalks the street,<BR> + His eyes are eyes of fire,<BR> +The pavement burns beneath his feet,<BR> + Men droop before his ire;<BR> +But yonder, out upon the land,<BR> + His manners are not these:<BR> +He is a courtier mild and bland<BR> + Beneath the maple trees.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +He throws his buckler on the grass,<BR> + Unclasps his sheathèd blade;<BR> +He doffs his helmet and cuirass,<BR> + And lounges in the shade;<BR> +His pennon, fastened to a bough,<BR> + Is fluttering in the breeze:<BR> +He is at home and happy now<BR> + Beneath the maple trees.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +No furious rage disturbs his breast,<BR> + No fever heats his brain;<BR> +Right cheerily he takes his rest,<BR> + And views his glad domain;<BR> +His lady seated by his side,<BR> + His children on his knees,<BR> +His heart expands with joy and pride<BR> + Beneath the maple trees.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +He hears the happy farmer folk<BR> + Who toss the fragrant hay;<BR> +Blessings upon him they invoke,<BR> + And beg of him to stay.<BR> +The music of the feathered choirs,<BR> + The murmur of the bees,<BR> +Are sounds of which he never tires<BR> + Beneath the maple trees.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +He hums a sweet, melodious tune,<BR> + His hand a garland weaves,<BR> +He talks the while he feasts at noon,<BR> + His laughter shakes the leaves.<BR> +He tells of conquests in the south,<BR> + Of triumphs overseas,<BR> +Of realms redeemed and deeds of drouth,<BR> + Beneath the maple trees.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +He shouts and holds his jolly sides,<BR> + And strikes his lusty thigh,<BR> +To think of how Sir Winter hides<BR> + His face when he is nigh,<BR> +Or how with city exquisites<BR> + His swagger disagrees:<BR> +Thus glad Sir Summer gaily sits<BR> + Beneath the maple trees.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I know where I can find his bower<BR> + Upon a wooded hill,<BR> +Where I can pluck his favorite flower,<BR> + And bathe within his rill;<BR> +And thither I will take my flight,<BR> + And loiter at my ease,<BR> +And pay my homage to the Knight<BR> + Beneath the maple trees.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="night"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE NIGHT.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A tremor, a quiver,<BR> + Through her ran<BR> +As over the river<BR> + The dawn began.<BR> +She drew her veil<BR> + Over her eyes,<BR> +And her face grew pale,<BR> + As she watched the sun rise.<BR> +She faded, turned<BR> + To a ghost, was gone,<BR> +As the morning burned<BR> + And the day came on.<BR> +With veiled, sad eye,<BR> + And face still wan,<BR> +She waited nigh<BR> + When the dusk began.<BR> +With her tears of bliss<BR> + The earth was wet,<BR> +And soothed with her kiss,<BR> + When the sun had set.<BR> +And with stately pride<BR> + She sat on the throne<BR> +Of her empire wide<BR> + When the day had gone;<BR> +And her robes she spread<BR> + With their sable hem,<BR> +And crowned her head<BR> + With her diadem.<BR> +And the mute earth saw<BR> + That a Queen was she,<BR> +And gazed with awe<BR> + On her majesty.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="beauty"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TO BEAUTY.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Beauty, beloved of all gentle hearts<BR> + And pure, and cherished of the gifted tribe<BR> +Whose skill to canvas and even stone imparts<BR> + Such things as words are powerless to describe.<BR> +And bards, who woo thee in the silent shade<BR> + And dote upon thee under moonlit skies,<BR> +And lovers, who behold thee new-array'd,<BR> + As our first parents did in Paradise!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +These all have been thy priests. In times remote,<BR> + In Athens and the cool Thessalian dells,<BR> +They sung thy liturgy with dulcet note,<BR> + And quaff'd thy chalice from the sacred wells<BR> +Of leafy Helicon. Beneath the brows<BR> + Of fam'd Olympus and among the isles<BR> +Of the Aegean sea they paid their vows,<BR> + And read thy lore in Nature's frowns and smiles.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Nor strange to Zion's sanctuaried hill<BR> + Wast thou, embalmer of the holy page;<BR> +Ambrosial odors from thy garments fill<BR> + The garden where the amorous royal sage<BR> +Walk'd and discours'd with his beloved; there<BR> + Alluring in thy soft and sumptuous dress:<BR> +And to his kinglier sire supremely fair,<BR> + Companion sweet of meek-ey'd Holiness.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Thou hast no local temple, no set shrine;<BR> + Thou art diffus'd o'er earth and sky and sea;<BR> +In every land a thousand haunts are thine,<BR> + Spirits of every race respond to thee.<BR> +Here thy Olympus and thy Zion hill,<BR> + Thy silvery Aegean, I survey;<BR> +Thy majesty and loveliness at will<BR> + I view, and own thy tranquilizing sway.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="doctor"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE DOCTOR.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +He bent above our darling's bed<BR> + When her life was ebbing low,<BR> +And in his serious look we read<BR> + The truth we feared to know.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +We knew a slender thread was all<BR> + That held her now; we saw<BR> +The dark, portentous shadow fall,<BR> + And near and nearer draw.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Our hopes were centred all in him;<BR> + We stood with bated breath<BR> +As, pitiful and calm and grim,<BR> + He fought and fought with Death.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +We hung upon the desperate fight,<BR> + And saw in him combined<BR> +The tiger's stealth, the lion's might,<BR> + The man's superior mind.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +We saw the fearful hate he bore<BR> + His old, relentless foe,<BR> +His beautiful compassion for<BR> + The one we cherished so.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +No mortal ever waged alone<BR> + A conflict so severe;<BR> +The high-souled, stainless champion<BR> + Finds heavenly succor near.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Legions of angels to his aid<BR> + His pure devotion brought;<BR> +Celestial strength his spirit swayed;<BR> + 'Twas Life that in him fought.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The awful stillness of the night!<BR> + The long and bitter hours!—<BR> +It seemed that Time had stayed his flight<BR> + To watch the battling pow'rs.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And ere the ghastly night had fled<BR> + He conquered in the strife,<BR> +And gently took the slender thread,<BR> + And drew her back to life.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="valentine"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MY VALENTINE.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +O Dorothy, sweet Dorothy,<BR> + You make my heart rejoice;<BR> +Your presence is like Arcady,<BR> + There's music in your voice;<BR> +Heaven's purity is on your brow,<BR> + Its light is in your eyne;<BR> +I love you, and I ask you now<BR> + To be my Valentine.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Your face is like the lily in<BR> + The morning's ruddy light;<BR> +Your dimpled cheeks and tiny chin<BR> + Are blessings to my sight;<BR> +Your lips are fairer than the rose<BR> + And redder far than wine;<BR> +Your teeth are whiter than the snows:<BR> + You'll be my Valentine!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +You are not quite so old as I,<BR> + You've seen but summers three;<BR> +And that's no doubt the reason why<BR> + You are not coy with me.<BR> +I'll come to you to-morrow,<BR> + And on chocolates we'll dine;<BR> +And you'll have no thought of sorrow<BR> + When you are my Valentine.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="friends"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MY FRIENDS.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem" STYLE="font-size: 85%"> + "My never-failing friends are they,<BR> + With whom I converse day by day."<BR> + —<I>Southey</I>.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Some to and fro for converse flit<BR> + And on their friends intrude,<BR> +Or shun society and sit<BR> + In cheerless solitude;<BR> +But I can sit, when night descends,<BR> +At home among a thousand friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The garish day is left behind,<BR> + The scurry and the din;<BR> +The hours of toil are out of mind,<BR> + As if they had not been.<BR> +No thought of morrow that impends<BR> +Comes in between me and my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +We reck not of the flight of time,<BR> + To them a subject strange;<BR> +They pass their days in a sublime<BR> + Indifference to change:<BR> +Theirs is the life that never ends;<BR> +Immortal beings are my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +They toil not, neither do they spin;<BR> + Yet none is meanly drest;<BR> +And some are clad in costly skin,<BR> + And some in silken vest;<BR> +And everyone who sees commends<BR> +The decent habits of my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And some are short, and some are tall;<BR> + Some portly, and some spare;<BR> +Here is a group of pygmies small,<BR> + A Tom Thumb family; there<BR> +A Brobdingnagian row extends,<BR> +The best-informed among my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Wot one among them all is low,<BR> + A fellow to be spurned;<BR> +And none is ever rude, although<BR> + Their backs are often turned.<BR> +No observation that offends<BR> +Is dropped by any of my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And some are steeped in classic lore;<BR> + Some brim with wisdom sage;<BR> +And some can trace a far-off shore,<BR> + Or paint a former age;<BR> +And each his talent freely lends,<BR> +For talented are all my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Some tell of deeds and lives sublime<BR> + And triumphs over foes;<BR> +Some weave a spell of lofty rhyme,<BR> + Some charm with stately prose;<BR> +And here and there a mind unbends<BR> +Familiarly among my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +In diction antiquated, quaint,<BR> + Or with a modern sound,<BR> +They speak their thoughts without restraint,<BR> + Although they're mostly bound;<BR> +And cease to speak when none attends,<BR> +A valued feature of my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Although they shun the thoughtless crowd,<BR> + The frivolous disdain,<BR> +Their titles have not made them proud,<BR> + Nor all their pages vain;<BR> +No common mortal less pretends,<BR> +None can be opener than my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +They care not that they've all been cut,<BR> + A number by myself,<BR> +And often taken down, and put<BR> + As often on the shelf;<BR> +My estimation makes amends<BR> +For such ill-treatment of my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +An ever-fresh, unfailing source<BR> + Of thought and sympathy,<BR> +What hours of goodly intercourse<BR> + They have afforded me!<BR> +I cannot doubt that heaven still sends<BR> +Us angels while I have my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +If he who sits at home in gloom,<BR> + Or rushes here and there,<BR> +Will put a bookshelf in his room<BR> + And furnish it with care,<BR> +He'll bless the evenings that he spends<BR> +With such companions as my friends.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="irish"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +NOTHING TOO GOOD FOR THE IRISH.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +It's the Emerald Isle is the beautiful land:<BR> + There's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +O'er the whole of it, Nature, at heaven's command,<BR> +Has scattered her charms with a prodigal hand<BR> +From Skibbereen town to the Donegal strand;<BR> + For there's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And it's many a hero the Irish can claim:<BR> + There's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +"Red Hugh" put his country's invaders to shame;<BR> +Owen Roe was a fighter they never could tame;<BR> +As a nation the Irish have glory and fame;<BR> + For there's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And the Irish are noted for piety, too:<BR> + There's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +In the far-away time before Brian Boru,<BR> +The faith by Saint Patrick was planted and grew,<BR> +And the "Island of Saints" has had saints not a few:<BR> + For there's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And the best of all orators Irishmen are:<BR> + There's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +The voice of Columba was heard from afar,<BR> +Burke's eloquence rolled like a conquering car,<BR> +And the name of O'Connell's a radiant star;<BR> + For there's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And the Irishman always is witty, of course;<BR> + There's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +And his wit is as genial and kind as its source;<BR> +It never leaves anyone feeling the worse;<BR> +He makes bulls, but a good Irish bull's a white horse;<BR> + For there's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +You are thinking, no doubt, to the race I belong:<BR> + There's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +You think I am Irish, but that's where you're wrong;<BR> +I am Scotch, but our love for the Irish is strong;<BR> +We gave them a saint and we'll give them a song;<BR> + For there's nothing too good for the Irish.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="toast"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AN ENGLISH TOAST.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The English soil!—'tis hallowed ground:<BR> + Its restless children roam<BR> +The world, but they have never found<BR> + So dear a land as home;<BR> +Their passion for its hills and downs<BR> + Nor space nor time can spoil;<BR> +A golden mist of memory crowns<BR> + The good old English soil.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The English race!—its pluck and pith,<BR> + Its power to stay and win,—<BR> +Wise Alfred's, dauntless Harold's kith,<BR> + And Coeur de Lion's kin!<BR> +Sir Philip Sidney, Hampden, Noll,<BR> + Who sat in kingly place!<BR> +Wolfe, Nelson, Wellington and all<BR> + The good old English race!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The English speech!—the copious tongue,<BR> + Terse, vivid, plastic, fit,<BR> +Which Chaucer, Spenser loved and sung,<BR> + Which gave us Holy Writ;<BR> +Which Shakespeare, Milton used, to write,<BR> + Which Taylor used, to preach,<BR> +And Pitt, to speak, as we to-night—<BR> + The good old English speech!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"St. George and Merrie England!"—still<BR> + The stirring phrase imparts<BR> +Warmth to the blood, and sends a thrill<BR> + Through more than English hearts.<BR> +God save Old England by His grace!<BR> + We all alike beseech,<BR> +Who know the English soil or race<BR> + And speak the English speech.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="scot"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SCOT.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +That no Scotsman is perfect, we freely confess,<BR> + Nor has been since the time of the fall;<BR> +Yet we think, notwithstanding and nevertheless,<BR> + He is "nae sheep-shank bane," after all.<BR> +"Sic excellent pairts" as he has will atone<BR> + For the lack of a tittle or jot;<BR> +And, although we don't boast, it is very well known<BR> + For some things you must go to a Scot.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +If you want a sweet song that comes straight from the heart<BR> + Of a man who had few for his peers,<BR> +An approved son of genius and master of art.<BR> + And a lover, with laughter and tears;<BR> +A song that gives honor to personal worth,<BR> + And ennobles the lowliest lot,<BR> +And makes brothers of all who inhabit the earth;<BR> + You must go "for a' that" to a Scot.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +If you want a good story, entrancingly told,<BR> + By a genuine king of the pen,<BR> +A right royal dispenser of things new and old,<BR> + And a faithful portrayer of men;<BR> +A tale that will brighten your work and your play,<BR> + And will do what some others do not,—<BR> +Give you knowledge and wisdom and heart for the fray;<BR> + You will go to Sir Walter, the Scot.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +If you want the high spirit that scorns to make truce<BR> + With a foeman on suppliant knee,<BR> +The untameable will of a Wallace or Bruce,<BR> + Or the dash of a Bonnie Dundee;<BR> +Fierce courage that nothing on earth can subdue,<BR> + Sense of honor that shrinks from a blot,<BR> +Inexhaustible loyalty, loving and true,<BR> + You will find them to-day in a Scot.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +If you want an intense love of country and kin,<BR> + An attachment as tender as strong,<BR> +That can gar the blood leap when the pipers begin,<BR> + And the tear start at sound of a song;<BR> +A grand patriotic devotion and pride,<BR> + That makes sanctified ground of the spot<BR> +Where a Scotsman for freedom has suffered and died;<BR> + You will find what you want in a Scot.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +If you want a hale-bodied and clear-headed chiel,<BR> + Independent and honest and good,<BR> +With a hand that can do and a heart that can feel,<BR> + And tenacious of purpose—and shrewd;<BR> +Whose thrift makes the face of prosperity smile,<BR> + Who's contented with what he has got,<BR> +But is ready and careful to add to his pile;<BR> + You may find what you want in a Scot.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Gin ye wush a douce body, auldfarrant and gash,<BR> + Unco' waukrife and couthie and braw,<BR> +Ower eydent wi' daft clishmaclavers to fash,<BR> + Or to thole whigmaleeries ava;<BR> +Mak's nae collieshangie wad fley a bit flee,<BR> + But is siccer and dour as a stot;<BR> +Tak's the scone and the kebbuck and carries the gree;<BR> + Ye'll be spierin', gude faith! for a Scot.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="footnote"> +GLOSSARY.—"Nae sheep-shank bane" (Burns), no unimportant person; +"gars," makes; "chiel," fellow; "gin," if; "wush," wish; "douce," +sober; "auldfarrant," wise; "gash," sagacious; "unco," uncommonly; +"waukrife," wideawake; "couthie," kindly; "braw," handsome; "ower," +over; "eydent," busy; "daft," foolish; "clishmaclavers," idle talk; +"fash," trouble; "thole," bear; "whigmaleeries," crotchets; "ava," at +all; "collieshangie," commotion; "fley," disturb; "siccer," steady; +"dour," stubborn; "stot," ox; "scone," a cake; "kebbuck," a cheese; +"carries the gree" (Burns), has the pre-eminence; "spierin'," inquiring. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="game"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE ROARIN' GAME.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The roarin' game, the roarin' game,<BR> +From Scotland's bonnie land it came,<BR> +The land of loch and firth and ben,<BR> +And comely dames and stalwart men;<BR> +It crossed the broad Atlantic tide<BR> +With Scots who came to dwell this side,<BR> +And bring our country wealth and fame,<BR> +The roarin' game, the roarin' game.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The roarin' game, the roarin' game<BR> +Makes every land to Scotsmen "hame";<BR> +Where'er the winter's breath congeals<BR> +The water, see the sturdy "chiels"<BR> +With "stane" and besom play and sweep,<BR> +Intently gaze, and shout and leap,<BR> +With genial fervor all aflame:—<BR> +The roarin' game, the roarin' game.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The roarin' game, the roarin' game,<BR> +Though stupid folk may think it tame,<BR> +Affect the smile that wisdom casts<BR> +On rattle-brained enthusiasts,<BR> +And jest in condescending tones<BR> +Of boys and marbles, men and stones;<BR> +'Tis fine enjoyment just the same,<BR> +The roarin' game, the roarin' game.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The roarin' game, the roarin' game<BR> +Its meed of praise may justly claim:<BR> +As firm as ice upon the pond<BR> +It is of hearts a brother bond;<BR> +It trains us to be wise and true<BR> +In all we undertake to do,<BR> +And fits for every higher aim,<BR> +The roarin' game, the roarin' game,<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The roarin' game, the roarin' game<BR> +Will never give us cause for shame,<BR> +No shattered nerves and aching heads,<BR> +Bad consciences and nameless dreads,<BR> +But health and strength and minds serene<BR> +And kindly hearts and friendly mien:<BR> +No honest tongue will e'er defame<BR> +The roarin' game, the roarin' game.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="minister"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE OLD SCOTTISH MINISTER.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A man he was of Scottish race,<BR> + And ancient Scottish name;<BR> +Of common mould, but lofty mien,<BR> + That dignified his frame.<BR> +And he lived a humble, quiet life,<BR> + Obscure, unknown to fame;<BR> +God's glory and the good of man<BR> + His constant, only aim:<BR> + Like a fine old Scottish minister,<BR> + All of the olden time.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +He dearly loved his gentle wife,<BR> + As everyone could tell;<BR> +And watched his children as they grew,<BR> + Lest any ill befell;<BR> +And as he looked upon his boys<BR> + His bosom oft would swell;<BR> +For he reared them in the fear of God,<BR> + And ruled his household well:<BR> + Like a true old Scottish minister,<BR> + All of the olden time.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A father, too, he was to all<BR> + His congregation there:<BR> +To all he felt a father's love,<BR> + And showed a father's care:<BR> +He wisely counselled them with speech,<BR> + And pled for them in prayer;<BR> +And ever for the needy ones<BR> + He something had to spare:<BR> + Like a kind old Scottish minister,<BR> + All of the olden time.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The servant of the Lord he was,<BR> + In hovel and in hall,—<BR> +The high ambassador of heaven<BR> + Whom earth could not enthrall;<BR> +Like Christ among the wedding guests,<BR> + Or by the funeral pall;<BR> +And he made his daily life sublime,<BR> + A pattern unto all:<BR> + Like a grand old Scottish minister,<BR> + All of the olden time.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +For truth and righteousness and love<BR> + His voice was ever heard;<BR> +And minds were kindled into thought,<BR> + And consciences were stirred,<BR> +And weary, heavy-laden hearts<BR> + To faith and hope were spurred,<BR> +As from the pulpit he proclaimed<BR> + The everlasting Word:<BR> + Like a faithful Scottish minister,<BR> + All of the olden time.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And when, amid his elders grave,<BR> + Extended in a line<BR> +Beside the table of the Lord,<BR> + He kept the rite divine,<BR> +His face with a rapt, unearthly look<BR> + Was seen to strangely shine,<BR> +As he broke the white, symbolic bread,<BR> + And passed the sacred wine:<BR> + Like a saintly Scottish minister,<BR> + All of the olden time.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +His lot was hard, his task severe;<BR> + He found the burden light:<BR> +When darkly o'er his pathway hung<BR> + The shadows of the night,<BR> +His heart was steadfast, for he walked<BR> + By faith, and not by sight;<BR> +And ran triumphantly his course,<BR> + And fought a goodly fight:<BR> + Like a brave old Scottish minister,<BR> + All of the olden time.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And when upon a summer's day<BR> + He laid him down to die,<BR> +He called his household to his side<BR> + Without a moan or sigh,<BR> +And blessed his children each in turn,<BR> + And said a fond good-bye,<BR> +And then consigned his soul to God,<BR> + And went to live on high:<BR> + Like a good old Scottish minister,<BR> + All of the olden time.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="macs"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MACS.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +There's a race, or a part of a race, if you will,<BR> +Of renown prehistoric, and vigorous still,<BR> +Who back from their fastnesses scornfully hurl'd<BR> +The redoubtable legions that trampled the world;<BR> +They repelled, and they only, the Roman attacks,<BR> +The stalwart, courageous, impetuous Macs.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +When the red-bearded pirates, the Saxons and Danes<BR> +And Angles, came swarming across the sea plains,<BR> +And the old British stock to exterminate tried,<BR> +Caledonia and Erin their efforts defied;<BR> +And the conquering Normans were glad to make tracks<BR> +From the Macs and the Mics (who are properly Macs).<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Their proud patronymics, they rightfully hold,<BR> +Proclaim them descended from heroes of old.—<BR> +Illustrious titles that throw in the shade<BR> +The dukedoms and earldoms but yesterday made;<BR> +And even the King with his royalty lacks<BR> +A lineage as ancient as that of the Macs.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +They are old and yet young, with a spirit possest<BR> +By the dream of the East and the hope of the West;<BR> +The earth is their country, the race is their kin;<BR> +In populous cities their guerdon they win,<BR> +And in gold miners' cabins and lumbermen's shacks<BR> +You will find the ubiquitous, venturesome Macs.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Distinguished they've been with the sword and the pen;<BR> +In pulpit and parliament, leaders of men;<BR> +Prime ministers, presidents, merchants, viziers,<BR> +They have manag'd the business of both hemispheres;<BR> +And the Dago day-laborers laying the tracks<BR> +Are boss'd by the Macs or the Mics (who are Macs).<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +'Twas thought by the ancients that Atlas upbore<BR> +The sphere on his shoulders—'tis thought so no more;<BR> +Prometheus and Atlas and all of their kith,<BR> +The Titans, are now but a fable, a myth.<BR> +The men who are bearing the world on their backs<BR> +Are the Macs and the Mics (who are mixed with the Macs).<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="parson"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE PARSON AT THE HOCKEY MATCH.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +It's very disagreeable to sit here in the cold,<BR> +And a sinful waste of time—ah, well, it's too late now to scold;<BR> +I'll think about my sermon and my prayers for Sunday next,<BR> +And the young folks may be happy—let me see—what was my text?<BR> +But what a throng of people—an immortal soul in each:<BR> +With such an audience this would be a splendid place to preach.<BR> +I'd have the pulpit half-way down—what ice! without a smirch!<BR> +Here are the men—I wonder if they ever go to church.<BR> +"The teams?" Ah, yes, "the forwards, point, and cover-point and goal";<BR> +Thank you, my dear, I understand—is that a lump of coal?<BR> +"Rubber?" Ah, yes, "The puck?" just so! One's holding it, I see—<BR> +That fellow with his clothes all on—ah, that's the referee.<BR> +What was he whistling for—his dog? Why, they've begun to play;<BR> +Well, well, that's rough; I really think we're doing wrong to stay.<BR> +It's sickening, deafening; dear! I wish this uproar could be stilled.<BR> +I do sincerely trust there'll not be anybody killed.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +It's a wondrous exhibition of alertness, speed, and strength.<BR> +I suppose there's not much danger—there's a fellow at full length.<BR> +He's up again; that's plucky. Well, the little lad has pluck—<BR> +And now he's master of the ice, possessor of the puck.<BR> +He dodges two opponents, but collides with one at last,<BR> +A Philistine Goliath—David baffles him and fast<BR> +Darts onward o'er the whitening sheet, while from each crowded row<BR> +The crazed spectators cheer him on—Look!—has he lost it? No!<BR> +He's clear again. Played, played, my boy. I'd like to see him score:—<BR> +(I'll have no voice for Sunday if I shout like this much more)—<BR> +But there his ruthless enemies o'erwhelm him in a shoal—<BR> +Well played, you hero, safely passed. Now for a shot on goal.<BR> +Shoot, shoot, you duffer; shoot, you goose, you ass, you great galoot,<BR> +You addle-pated idiot, you nincompoop, you—shoot!<BR> +You've lost it! Never mind—well tried—that other dash was grand.<BR> +Why do they stop? "Off side," you say? I don't quite understand.<BR> +That's puzzling. I suppose it's right. I wish they'd not delay.<BR> +This is a most provoking interruption to the play.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Cold?" Nothing of the sort. I was—I'm heated with the game.<BR> +I'm really enjoying it; indeed, I'm glad I came.<BR> +I'd like to see both ends at once; I can't from where we sit.<BR> +They've scored one yonder—What's the row? A player has been hit?<BR> +Such things are bound to happen in a rapid game like this;<BR> +They'll soon resume the play, my dear; there's nothing much amiss,—<BR> +Some trifling accident received in a rough body check,<BR> +A shoulder dislocated or a fracture of the neck.<BR> +Oh, no, it's nothing serious—the game begins again.<BR> +They're here, a writhing, struggling mass of half a dozen men<BR> +Battling and groaning with the strife, and breathing hard and fast,<BR> +Swayed back and forth and stooping low like elms before the blast,<BR> +Changing their places like a fleet of vessels tempest-driven<BR> +That blindly meet within the waves and part with timbers riven,<BR> +Waving their sticks with frantic zeal—But isn't this a sight?<BR> +My goodness! I could sit and watch a game like this all night.<BR> +There, dirty trousers, there's your chance. Muffed it! Why weren't<BR> + you quick?<BR> +This is a sight to make the sad rejoice, to heal the sick,<BR> +To rouse the drones and give them life to last them half a year—<BR> +Hit him again!—I wish I had my congregation here.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +My stars! and this is hockey. Hockey's the king of sports.<BR> +This is the thing to come to when you're feeling out of sorts.<BR> +This is the greatest holiday I've had for many weeks.<BR> +This helps one to appreciate the feeling of the Greeks.<BR> +I understand my Homer now—O Hercules, behold<BR> +Yon Trojan giant, he that's cast in an Olympian mould,<BR> +Ye gods, he more than doubled up that other stalwart cove—<BR> +Here comes swift-footed Mercury, the messenger of Jove.<BR> +Adown the blue, outstripping all, he speeds. Oh, what a spurt!<BR> +His shoulders have no wings, but see, he has them on his shirt.<BR> +He's broken through the forward line, baffled the cover-point,<BR> +Thrown down the other man and knocked their game all out of joint.<BR> +And now he rushes on the goal—this makes the senses reel—<BR> +Goal! goal! hurrah! hurrah! well done, men of the winged wheel!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +At last—how soon!—the game is done; I've scarcely drawn a breath.<BR> +This getting out is difficult; I'm almost crushed to death.<BR> +The cars are packed; how we'll get home I'm sure I do not know.<BR> +Here's room for you; get up, my dears; I'll walk; away you go.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +My sermon's gone, but as I walk I cannot help but think<BR> +That, after all, perhaps I've found a sermon in the rink.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +This world is an arena with a slippery sheet of ice,<BR> +And all have skates and hockey sticks and enter without price.<BR> +And seats are round for those who rest—the idle and the old;<BR> +But those who are not in the game are apt to find it cold.<BR> +Some play defence, some forward, with terrific speed and stress.<BR> +The puck keeps flying 'twixt the goals of failure and success,<BR> +Now up, now down, across and back, here, there, and everywhere.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The grit of skates, the crack of sticks, the shouting, fill the air.<BR> +Some slip and fall a thousand times and spring up in a trice;<BR> +Some go to pieces on their feet and have to leave the ice;<BR> +Some play offside, kick, tackle, trip, try every kind of foul;<BR> +Some players are forever cheered, some only get a howl.<BR> +We seldom hear the whistle of the watchful Referee,<BR> +Who mostly lets the game go on as if He didn't see.<BR> +No gong rings out half-time to let the players get their breath—<BR> +To most full time comes only with the solemn stroke of death.<BR> +The winners are not always those who make the biggest score:<BR> +The vanquished oft are victors when the stubborn game is o'er;<BR> +For many things are added to make up the grand amount,<BR> +And everything is taken at the last into account—<BR> +The sort of sticks we played with, and the way our feet were shod,<BR> +For the trophy is Salvation and the Referee is God.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +God prosper our Canadian sports and keep them clean and pure,<BR> +Whole-hearted, manly, generous, and let them long endure!<BR> +Long live each honest winter sport, each good Canadian game,<BR> +To train the youth in lusty health and iron strength of frame,<BR> +To make them noble, vigorous, straightforward, ardent, bold,<BR> +Nearer a perfect standard than the grandest knights of old.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Keep in the path of rectitude the young throughout the land,<BR> +And guide them ever on their way by thine unerring hand,<BR> +Along the slippery path of life in safety toward the goal,<BR> +And keep their bodies holy as the temples of the soul:<BR> +For the river of the future from the present's fountain runs,<BR> +And a nation's hope is founded on the virtue of her sons.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The glory of a man is strength, Thy wisdom hath declared:<BR> +Let strength increase, and strength of frame with strength of will<BR> + be paired,<BR> +And let these twain go hand in hand with strength of heart and mind,<BR> +And strength of character present all forms of strength combined.<BR> +Oh, make out strength the strength of men to perfect stature grown,<BR> +And use it for thine ends and turn man's glory to thine own.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Canada, My Land, by W. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Canada, My Land + and Other Compositions in Verse + +Author: W. M. MacKeracher + +Release Date: August 21, 2011 [EBook #37155] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANADA, MY LAND *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +CANADA, MY LAND + +AND OTHER COMPOSITIONS IN VERSE + + + +BY + +W. M. MacKERACHER + + + + +TORONTO + +WILLIAM BRIGGS + +1908 + + + + +Copyright, Canada, 1908, by W. M. MacKeracher + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +CANADA, MY LAND + There may be more enchanting climes + +FORWARD, CANADA! + Northland of our birth and rearing + +CANADIAN-BORN + Although I'm not unduly proud + +KNOW'ST THOU THE LAND! + Know'st thou the land where the pious and bold + +O MAPLE LEAF! + Thee best of leaves I love + +DOMINION DAY + Where the purple-vestured mountains + +CANADA'S EIGHTEEN + At Paardeberg they fell + +DOMINION DAY, 1900 + Rejoice, O Canada, rejoice + +O CANADA, MON PAYS, MES AMOURS + O Canada, my country and my love + +SOL CANADIEN, TERRE CHERIE + O soil Canadian, cherished earth + +MY OWN CANADIAN GIRL + The demoiselles of sunny France + +THE ST. LAWRENCE + Though like Ulysses, fam'd of old + +ST. LAWRENCE AND THE COMING SHIPS + I cannot loiter on my way + +THE QUEBEC EXODUS + Why should we leave the soil our fathers cleared + +HEAT + The fickle sun that had the earth caress'd + +INVOCATION TO SUMMER + Come, Summer, come, nor in the south delay + +SIR SUMMER + When conquering Summer stalks the street + +THE NIGHT + A tremor, a quiver, through her ran + +TO BEAUTY + Beauty, beloved of all gentle hearts + +THE DOCTOR + He bent above our darling's bed + +MY VALENTINE + O Dorothy, sweet Dorothy + +MY FRIENDS + Some to and fro for converse flit + +NOTHING TOO GOOD FOR THE IRISH + It's the Emerald Isle is the beautiful land + +AN ENGLISH TOAST + The English soil!--'tis hallowed ground + +THE SCOT + That no Scotsman is perfect, we freely confess + +THE ROARIN' GAME + The roarin' game, the roarin' game + +THE OLD SCOTTISH MINISTER + A man he was of Scottish race + +THE MACS + There's a race, or a part of a race, if you will + +THE PARSON AT THE HOCKEY MATCH + It's very disagreeable to sit here in the cold + + + + + CANADA, MY LAND. + + There may be more enchanting climes + Within a southern zone; + There may be eastern Edens deckt + With charms to thee unknown; + But thou art fairest unto me, + Because thou art mine own, + Canada, my land. + + More spacious plains and loftier heights + In other realms may be, + And mightier streams than those which bear + Thy waters to the sea; + But thou, great handiwork of God, + Art grandest unto me, + Canada, my land. + + More glorious records may adorn + The annals of the past + Than those which tell the rise and growth + Of thy dominion vast; + But I am proudest of the land + In which my lot is cast, + Canada, my land. + + Beneath thy green or snow-clad sod + My fathers' ashes lie; + Thou hast my all, to thee I'm bound + By every dearest tie; + For thee I'll gladly live, for thee + I cheerfully would die, + Canada, my land. + + + + + FORWARD, CANADA! + + Northland of our birth and rearing, + Bound to us by ties endearing,-- + Forward ever, nothing fearing! + Forward, Canada! + + Hear thy children's acclamations! + Vanquish trials and vexations! + Higher rise among the nations! + Forward, Canada! + + Not by battles fierce and gory, + Not by conquest's hollow glory, + Need'st thou live in deathless story: + Forward, Canada! + + Not by might and not by power,--- + Truth shall be thy fortress tower; + Arts of peace shall be thy flower: + Forward, Canada! + + Yet if tyrant foe should ever + 'Gainst thee come with base endeavor, + Strike, and yield thy freedom never: + Forward, Canada! + + + + + CANADIAN-BORN. + + Although I'm not unduly proud, + Inordinately vain, + But humble, as will be allowed, + And modest in the main; + I must confess to pride of birth, + And all detractors warn + To let alone one land on earth: + I am Canadian-born. + + In one respect I fill the bill + As well as any man + Between Vancouver and Brazil, + Morocco and Japan. + From Hobart Town to Hammerfest, + From Greenland to the Horn, + My native land is much the best: + I am Canadian-born. + + The Greeks beside their Hellespont + Thought all but they were scum; + The Latins loved the classic vaunt, + "Civis Romanus sum." + I'm not so impudent as they + To hold the world in scorn, + But have a better boast to-day, + "I am Canadian-born." + + My land is beauty's flag unfurled, + A garden of increase, + The crowning wonder of the world, + Creation's masterpiece; + And deathless deed and kingly name + Her chronicles adorn; + I'm pardonably proud to claim + I am Canadian-born. + + I love her cities old and new, + Her crested mountain-chains, + Her lakes and rivers fair to view, + Her meadows and her plains, + Her tented fields of yellow sheaves, + Her spears of towering corn, + Her forests with their maple leaves: + I am Canadian-born. + + I love her verdant springtime sweet, + Her autumn red and gold; + I love her summer's tropic heat, + Her winter's arctic cold, + The splendor of her evening glow, + The glory of her morn; + And day and night I love to know + I am Canadian-born. + + All honor to her pioneers, + The gallant sons of France; + All honor to their British peers, + Who aided her advance; + To workers like the great Champlain, + And Dufferin and Lorne, + And those who could take up the strain, + "I am Canadian-born." + + Here my allotted time I'd live + And play my little part, + My service here to Nature give, + To Industry and Art; + Here pluck life's roses when I may, + And when I feel the thorn + Look up with fortitude and say, + "I am Canadian-born." + + And should unfriendly circumstance + (Which Providence forbid!) + Decree that from my latest glance + My country should be hid, + Ah, then 'twill ease my parting sigh + And cheer my heart forlorn, + To think, wherever I may die, + I am Canadian-born. + + + + + KNOW'ST THOU THE LAND? + + Know'st thou the land where the pious and bold + Beared Christianity's emblem of old, + And civilization's beneficent reign + Extended o'er anarchy's savage domain? + The land of the dauntless explorers who prest + Upstream, through the wilderness, into the West? + Know'st thou the land of the soldier and knight, + The land of adventure and toil and delight? + Know'st thou the land? + Know'st thou the land? + 'Tis the land of my home, my beloved native land. + + Know'st thou the land where the Briton and Gaul, + In courage and prowess supreme over all, + Contending for lordship and vying for place, + Collided and locked in a mighty embrace + So bravely that fame has awarded the palm + Of deathless renown to both Wolfe and Montcalm? + Know'st thou the land for which heroes have died, + The land of the strong and the true and the tried? + + Know'st thou the land of the broad maple tree? + The noblest and best of his fellows is he: + He grows in the meadow, the grove and the wood; + His trunk is for timber, his sap is for food; + His boughs are for fire in the cold winter days; + His leaves are for shade from the summer sun's blaze. + Know'st thou the land of the maple benign, + The land of the elm and the oak and the pine? + + Know'st thou the land where the great inland seas + Are tossed by the tempest or fanned by the breeze; + The land of Superior's crystalline tide, + Of Huron's exuberant vigor and pride, + Of Erie's alluring voluptuous glance, + Ontario's laughing Elysian expanse? + Know'st thou the land that is praised evermore + By the chant of their surge and Niagara's roar? + + Know'st thou the land of the clear-flowing streams + That mirror the stars and reflect the sun's beams? + Through the woods and the farmland they wander at large, + And the deer and the kine come to drink at their marge; + They flash in the distance like ribands of white; + Their trout-haunted pools are the angler's delight. + Know'st thou the land of the rivers and rills, + The boon of the lowlands, the joy of the hills? + + Know'st thou the land where St. Lawrence proceeds + By cities and hamlets and blossoming meads + And islands and waters of lesser degree, + With his tribute to pour in the lap of the sea? + His shining battalions he halts to deploy, + Or leaps through the rapid with turbulent joy. + Know'st thou the land that he laves in his flow, + Where deep-laden argosies royally go? + + Know'st thou the land of the mountains that rise + Till their summits are lost in the depths of the skies? + Their granite foundations are far underground, + Where the gold and the coal and the iron abound; + And the sun on their white-headed majesty flings + The radiance of crowns and the purple of kings. + Know'st thou the land of these citadels tall, + With their ramparts and battlements, wall upon wall? + + Know'st thou the land where the ice and the snow + On all things a magical beauty bestow? + Then the earth is a bride and the tingling air wine, + The frosty sky sparkles, the Pleiades shine, + And the bright "merry dancers" in gorgeous array, + Like ghosts of dead sunbeams, come forth to their play. + Know'st thou the land of the sleigh-bells, the land + Of the warm fireside and the welcoming hand? + + Know'st thou the land where kind Nature has given + In earth's beauty and grandeur a foretaste of heaven; + Where History lingers, enthralled with the view + Of as splendid exploits as the world ever knew; + Where Industry reaps the rewards of her toil + In the wealth of the cities, the fruits of the soil? + Know'st thou the land which the Muses regard, + The land of the sculptor, the singer, the bard? + + Know'st thou the land where the spell of the past + Is over the mind irresistibly cast; + Where the present fulfills the fond hopes of the years, + The dreams of romancers, the visions of seers, + Where the future inspires with a prospect sublime, + Maturing the fairest fruition of time? + Know'st thou this land of Heaven's favor possest, + The fortunate land of a destiny blest? + Know'st thou the land? + Know'st thou the land? + 'Tis the land of my home, my belov'd native land. + + + + + O MAPLE LEAF! + + Thee best of leaves I love, + In forest or in grove, + O Maple Leaf; + O thou which art the sign + Of this dear land of mine, + What loveliness is thine, + O Maple Leaf! + + Naught can with thee compare, + On earth or in the air, + O Maple Leaf; + Wondrous thy beauties are; + Thy form is like a star, + But thou art not afar, + O Maple Leaf. + + When drops of dew adorn + Thy surface in the morn, + O Maple Leaf, + No hue so fair is seen, + In silk or satin's sheen, + As thy rich shade of green, + O Maple Leaf. + + No music in my ear + Is half so sweet to hear, + O Maple Leaf, + As that which thou dost make + When winds of summer shake + The branches of the brake, + O Maple Leaf. + + Most beautiful in pain, + When suns begin to wane, + O Maple Leaf, + Thou never growest old, + But in the time of cold + Thou turnest but to gold, + O Maple Leaf. + + And when the earth expires, + And mute are all her choirs, + O Maple Leaf, + Thy dower thou dost shed + Of tribute, richest red, + Upon her sombre bed, + O Maple Leaf. + + May heaven bless thy land, + And make it strong to stand, + O Maple Leaf; + For it we humbly pray + That God will be its stay, + Now, henceforth, and for aye, + O Maple Leaf. + + + + + DOMINION DAY. + + Where the purple-vestured mountains + Bear their summits crowned with snow, + Haughty lords of all the riches + In the rocks and streams below; + Tow'ring to the azure heavens, + Frowning on the sapphire sea: + There to-day, O wide Dominion, + Thine own children honor thee. + + Where the shadeless, open prairie + Spreads its lone expanse unstirred + By a sound of living creature, + Save the lowing of the herd, + And the half-grown wheat in verdure + Reaches thickly to the knee, + There to-day, O fair Dominion, + Thine own children honor thee. + + Where the south wind from the bushes + The large, luscious berry shakes, + And the commerce of the cities + Meets the traffic of the lakes, + And the thunderous Niag'ra + Sings the paean of the free: + There to-day, O strong Dominion, + Thine own children honor thee. + + Where the deep, majestic river + Bears upon its solemn tide, + By the haunts of ancient story + And the seats of former pride, + Ocean argosies to markets + Where the world is held in fee: + There to-day, O great Dominion, + Thine own children honor thee. + + Where the stalwart sea-girt peoples + Keep the gateway of the land; + In the meadows of New Brunswick, + On the Nova Scotian strand, + In the Gulf's fair island garden, + Sheltered by the maple tree: + There to-day, O blest Dominion, + Thine own children honor thee. + + In thy cherished mother country, + In thy sister lands afar, + On the burning eastern desert, + Underneath the southern star, + 'Midst the speech of alien races, + Wheresoe'er thy children be, + There to-day, O dear Dominion, + Loyal hearts remember thee. + + + + + CANADA'S EIGHTEEN. + + At Paardeberg they fell, + Within the Orange State; + They did their duty well; + They bravely met their fate. + + A stubborn fight they made + Upon the level plain, + While from the barricade + The bullets poured like rain. + + They fiercely charged the trench; + They took the outer line; + Who saw a visage blench? + Who heard a voice repine? + + They bore the ruthless fire; + But deadly was the cost: + They lived not to retire, + Nor saw their capture lost. + + No lustrous deed they wrought + To prompt the epic pen: + They only bravely fought, + And gave their lives like men. + + And yet no hero's fame + That rings across the seas, + Shall e'er eclipse the name + And memory of these. + + While suns shall rise and set + Upon the fatal scene, + We never shall forget + Our Canada's Eighteen. + + And now, as Britain weaves + The garland of her grief, + We place among the leaves + A blood-red maple leaf. + + + + + DOMINION DAY, 1900. + + Rejoice, O Canada, rejoice, + On this thy natal day; + In East and West lift up thy voice, + And to thy children say: + "Behold me now to stature sprung; + Acclaim my second birth; + A Nation now I stand among + My sisters of the earth." + + The wrath of man doth praise the Lord; + And, glorious be His name, + An Empire, fashioned by the sword + And welded in the flame, + Hath risen o'er the battle-smoke, + And near and far unfurled + Its righteous standard to evoke + Heaven's blessings on the world. + + + + + O CANADA, MON PAYS, MES AMOURS. + + (Title of a French-Canadian song.) + + O Canada, my country and my love, + Held in my heart all other lands above; + To thee to whom my homage should belong + I pay the cheerful tribute of my song, + And swear allegiance as on bended knee, + And vow undying fealty to thee, + O Canada, my country and my love. + + I crave no land of epic story cast + In giant shadows on the misty past; + No land illustrious in former time, + Which has outlived the vigor of its prime; + No lordlier land renowned across the sea, + Nor any other land on earth but thee, + O Canada, my country and my love. + + Past is thy night of darkness and of tears; + Thy radiant dawn hath driv'n away our fears; + Thy sun in morning splendor mounts the sky; + Thy hopes, thy aims, thy destinies are high. + God make thee great, as thou art fair and free, + And give thee sons and daughters worthy thee, + O Canada, my country and my love. + + Eternal blessing rest upon thy head! + Abounding Plenty heap thy board with bread! + Justice and Peace upon thy steps attend, + And Virtue be thy guardian and thy friend! + And Righteousness, like thine own maple tree, + Flourish and rear her shelter over thee, + O Canada, my country and my love. + + + + + SOL CANADIEN, TERRE CHERIE. + + (From the French of Isidore Bedard.) + + O soil Canadian, cherished earth, + The brave, the noble, peopled thee; + They left the country of their birth, + And sought a land of liberty. + It was from glorious France they came: + They were the pick of warriors, they; + The shining lustre of their fame + Is kept untarnished till to-day. + + How beautiful thy fields appear! + How much thou hast to give content! + All hail, ye mountains that uprear + Your lordly heights magnificent! + All hail, St. Lawrence' noble tide! + Hail, land by Nature richly deckt! + Thy children's hearts should throb with pride, + Thy sons should walk with head erect. + + Still honor the protecting hand + Of Albion, friend of the opprest; + And harbor no malicious band + Of traitors nourished in thy breast. + Yield never in the storm, be brave; + Thine only masters are thy laws; + Thou wast not made to be a slave; + Fear not, thy rights are Britain's cause. + + If that belov'd, protecting hand + Should ever fail thee, undismay'd + Stand by thyself, alone, my land, + Rejecting, scorning foreign aid. + From glorious France thy founders came; + They were the pick of warriors, they: + The shining lustre of their fame + Unsullied shall be kept for aye. + + + + + MY OWN CANADIAN GIRL. + + The demoiselles of sunny France + Have gaiety and grace; + Britannia's maids a tender glance, + A sweet and gentle face; + Columbia's virgins bring to knee + Full many a duke and earl; + But there is none can equal thee, + My own Canadian girl. + + Thy hair is finer than the floss + That tufts the ears of corn; + Its tresses have a silken gloss, + A glory like the morn; + I prize the rich, luxuriant mass, + And each endearing curl + A special grace and beauty has, + My own Canadian girl. + + Thy brow is like the silver moon + That sails in summer skies, + The mirror of a mind immune + From care, serene and wise, + Thy nose is sculptured ivory; + Thine ears are lobes of pearl; + Thy lips are corals from the sea, + My own Canadian girl. + + Thine eyes are limpid pools of light, + The windows of thy soul; + The stars are not so clear and bright + That shine around the pole. + The crimson banners of thy cheeks + To sun and wind unfurl; + Thy tongue makes music when it speaks, + My own Canadian girl. + + God keep thee fair and bright and good + As in thy morning hour, + And make thy gracious womanhood + A still unfolding flow'r. + And stay thy thoughts from trifles vain, + Thy feet from folly's whirl, + And guard thy life from every stain, + My own Canadian girl! + + + + + THE ST. LAWRENCE. + + Though like Ulysses, fam'd of old, + I travell'd, or the wandering Jew, + No nobler sight could I behold + Than one which daily meets my view, + This mighty stream, my country's pride, + St. Lawrence' broad, majestic tide. + + By Babylonia's waters, 'mong + Unwonted scenes, disconsolate, + Their harps upon the willows hung, + The Jewish exiles weeping sate, + Recall'd the river of their land, + And yearn'd to tread its winding strand. + + When stern Elisha bade him lave + Seven times in Jordan and be clean, + His Syrian upland's flashing wave + Seem'd better to the Damascene. + "Albana, Pharpar far excel," + He said, "the streams of Israel." + + In India Ganges was rever'd, + In Egypt worshipp'd was the Nile, + To Romans Tiber was endear'd + From Apennine to Sacred Isle; + And Rhine and Danube, Thames and Rhone + A people's votive love have known. + + And we to this imposing flood + A cordial homage needs must pay, + Who in the solemn night have stood + Upon its banks, and day by day + Been fill'd with gladness to behold + Its floor of silver flush'd with gold. + + It brings the nations to our marts, + It bears our commerce to the sea, + Has virtue, too, to cleanse our hearts, + And make our spirits strong and free; + It flows, our struggling lives to bless, + With volume, grace and cheerfulness. + + + + + ST. LAWRENCE AND THE COMING SHIPS. + + I cannot loiter on my way, + The ice is drifting through Belle Isle, + And far to seaward by Cape Ray + Broad leagues of open water smile. + Unheeded now, the inland barge + Creeps heavily, the fisher dips + His meshes in my brimming marge; + I go to meet the coming ships. + + They steam from Thames by Dover Strait, + They cleave the Bristol Channel's tide, + They pass the Mersey's thronging gate, + And issue from the crowded Clyde. + Out past the homing craft they sheer, + The Irish coastline by them slips; + Ere many days they will be here: + I go to meet the coming ships. + + Full-fraught with wealth of merchandise, + They plough the main with furrows deep; + Upon the waves they sink and rise, + But onward, onward ever keep. + And some a viewless message send, + Whose airy flight their speed outstrips; + And all their yearnings hither tend: + I go to meet the coming ships. + + I tarry not by fortress old, + Nor pause by any pleasant shore, + But hasten, eager to behold + Those brave leviathans once more, + To welcome them with parted banks, + And kiss their prows with loving lips, + And soothingly caress their flanks; + I go to meet the coming ships. + + + + + THE QUEBEC EXODUS. + + Why should we leave the soil our fathers cleared, + And lifelong tilled with patient, loving hands? + Why should we leave the homes our fathers reared, + And seek strange dwellings in unhallowed lands? + Why should we leave the shrines where they revered + Their guardian God, and break the golden bands + That bind us to the ashes of our sires, + Their haunts, their hearthstones and their altar-fires? + + Is it that now no longer from our doors + The forest stretches with its gloom profound? + That they who first set foot upon these shores + Increase and multiply and hedge us round, + Co-heritors of the exhaustless stores + Of natural wealth that more and more abound?-- + Because of brethren of a differing speech, + From whom we learn, and whom perhaps we teach? + + It was not thus our conquering race arose; + It was not thus our copious language grew: + The Saxon mingled with his Celtic foes, + The Norman brought to both a spirit new. + Not thus we read th' heroic tale of those + Who built the younger Britains o'er the blue: + 'Twas here and there a handful in the earth, + Prevailing, not by numbers, but by worth. + + + + + HEAT. + + The fickle sun that had the earth caress'd + And quickened all her amorous desire, + And brought fresh roses to adorn her breast, + Now spurned her in the madness of his ire; + A haze of heat half hid the mountain's crest; + The very river seemed of liquid fire; + The air was flame, the town a stifling pale, + And all the land was like a Hinnom's Vale. + + I thought of Hagar and what she endured, + Faint in the desert, driv'n from Sara's sight; + Of angry Jonah underneath his gourd, + Grown in a night and withered in a night; + Of the sun-stricken lad Elisha cured + For the good, hospitable Shunammite; + And of the fiery furnace made to glow + For Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. + + I called to mind Boccaccio's tale of her + Left on a sun-scorched roof, and like to die; + And I beheld the Ancient Mariner + Becalmed beneath his hot and copper sky; + And heard a long-forgotten traveller + Speak from a page which made my childhood sigh, + And tell of horrid climes by God accurst, + And men and horses perishing of thirst. + + And to myself I said, Is this the land + Where freezing cold claims sometimes half the year? + Is this the region where the streams are spanned + With floors of azure crystal, hard and clear, + And all the snow-enveloped mountains stand + Like hoary chiefs, majestic and austere? + Was't here we saw so late King Winter stern? + And will he shortly here again return? + + + + + INVOCATION TO SUMMER. + + Come, Summer, come, nor in the south delay; + We do thee honor with a longer day; + We prize thee more, we better know thy worth; + We hold thee dearer in the truer north: + Come, Summer, come. + + Come, Summer, come, and in the early dawn + Find sparkling dewdrops on the fragrant lawn; + Hush all before thy majesty at noon, + And hallow the long evening hours; come soon, + Come, Summer, come. + + Come, Summer, come, make meadow grasses long; + Make all the groves exuberant with song, + The pasture corners canopy with shades, + And thickly roof the silent forest glades: + Come, Summer, come. + + Come, Summer, come, and with thy magic breath + Make consummation of the death of death; + Complete the work of thy sweet sister, Spring; + Life more abundantly give everything: + Come, Summer, come. + + + + + SIR SUMMER. + + When conquering Summer stalks the street, + His eyes are eyes of fire, + The pavement burns beneath his feet, + Men droop before his ire; + But yonder, out upon the land, + His manners are not these: + He is a courtier mild and bland + Beneath the maple trees. + + He throws his buckler on the grass, + Unclasps his sheathed blade; + He doffs his helmet and cuirass, + And lounges in the shade; + His pennon, fastened to a bough, + Is fluttering in the breeze: + He is at home and happy now + Beneath the maple trees. + + No furious rage disturbs his breast, + No fever heats his brain; + Right cheerily he takes his rest, + And views his glad domain; + His lady seated by his side, + His children on his knees, + His heart expands with joy and pride + Beneath the maple trees. + + He hears the happy farmer folk + Who toss the fragrant hay; + Blessings upon him they invoke, + And beg of him to stay. + The music of the feathered choirs, + The murmur of the bees, + Are sounds of which he never tires + Beneath the maple trees. + + He hums a sweet, melodious tune, + His hand a garland weaves, + He talks the while he feasts at noon, + His laughter shakes the leaves. + He tells of conquests in the south, + Of triumphs overseas, + Of realms redeemed and deeds of drouth, + Beneath the maple trees. + + He shouts and holds his jolly sides, + And strikes his lusty thigh, + To think of how Sir Winter hides + His face when he is nigh, + Or how with city exquisites + His swagger disagrees: + Thus glad Sir Summer gaily sits + Beneath the maple trees. + + I know where I can find his bower + Upon a wooded hill, + Where I can pluck his favorite flower, + And bathe within his rill; + And thither I will take my flight, + And loiter at my ease, + And pay my homage to the Knight + Beneath the maple trees. + + + + + THE NIGHT. + + A tremor, a quiver, + Through her ran + As over the river + The dawn began. + She drew her veil + Over her eyes, + And her face grew pale, + As she watched the sun rise. + She faded, turned + To a ghost, was gone, + As the morning burned + And the day came on. + With veiled, sad eye, + And face still wan, + She waited nigh + When the dusk began. + With her tears of bliss + The earth was wet, + And soothed with her kiss, + When the sun had set. + And with stately pride + She sat on the throne + Of her empire wide + When the day had gone; + And her robes she spread + With their sable hem, + And crowned her head + With her diadem. + And the mute earth saw + That a Queen was she, + And gazed with awe + On her majesty. + + + + + TO BEAUTY. + + Beauty, beloved of all gentle hearts + And pure, and cherished of the gifted tribe + Whose skill to canvas and even stone imparts + Such things as words are powerless to describe. + And bards, who woo thee in the silent shade + And dote upon thee under moonlit skies, + And lovers, who behold thee new-array'd, + As our first parents did in Paradise! + + These all have been thy priests. In times remote, + In Athens and the cool Thessalian dells, + They sung thy liturgy with dulcet note, + And quaff'd thy chalice from the sacred wells + Of leafy Helicon. Beneath the brows + Of fam'd Olympus and among the isles + Of the Aegean sea they paid their vows, + And read thy lore in Nature's frowns and smiles. + + Nor strange to Zion's sanctuaried hill + Wast thou, embalmer of the holy page; + Ambrosial odors from thy garments fill + The garden where the amorous royal sage + Walk'd and discours'd with his beloved; there + Alluring in thy soft and sumptuous dress: + And to his kinglier sire supremely fair, + Companion sweet of meek-ey'd Holiness. + + Thou hast no local temple, no set shrine; + Thou art diffus'd o'er earth and sky and sea; + In every land a thousand haunts are thine, + Spirits of every race respond to thee. + Here thy Olympus and thy Zion hill, + Thy silvery Aegean, I survey; + Thy majesty and loveliness at will + I view, and own thy tranquilizing sway. + + + + + THE DOCTOR. + + He bent above our darling's bed + When her life was ebbing low, + And in his serious look we read + The truth we feared to know. + + We knew a slender thread was all + That held her now; we saw + The dark, portentous shadow fall, + And near and nearer draw. + + Our hopes were centred all in him; + We stood with bated breath + As, pitiful and calm and grim, + He fought and fought with Death. + + We hung upon the desperate fight, + And saw in him combined + The tiger's stealth, the lion's might, + The man's superior mind. + + We saw the fearful hate he bore + His old, relentless foe, + His beautiful compassion for + The one we cherished so. + + No mortal ever waged alone + A conflict so severe; + The high-souled, stainless champion + Finds heavenly succor near. + + Legions of angels to his aid + His pure devotion brought; + Celestial strength his spirit swayed; + 'Twas Life that in him fought. + + The awful stillness of the night! + The long and bitter hours!-- + It seemed that Time had stayed his flight + To watch the battling pow'rs. + + And ere the ghastly night had fled + He conquered in the strife, + And gently took the slender thread, + And drew her back to life. + + + + + MY VALENTINE. + + O Dorothy, sweet Dorothy, + You make my heart rejoice; + Your presence is like Arcady, + There's music in your voice; + Heaven's purity is on your brow, + Its light is in your eyne; + I love you, and I ask you now + To be my Valentine. + + Your face is like the lily in + The morning's ruddy light; + Your dimpled cheeks and tiny chin + Are blessings to my sight; + Your lips are fairer than the rose + And redder far than wine; + Your teeth are whiter than the snows: + You'll be my Valentine! + + You are not quite so old as I, + You've seen but summers three; + And that's no doubt the reason why + You are not coy with me. + I'll come to you to-morrow, + And on chocolates we'll dine; + And you'll have no thought of sorrow + When you are my Valentine. + + + + + MY FRIENDS. + + "My never-failing friends are they, + With whom I converse day by day." + --_Southey_. + + + Some to and fro for converse flit + And on their friends intrude, + Or shun society and sit + In cheerless solitude; + But I can sit, when night descends, + At home among a thousand friends. + + The garish day is left behind, + The scurry and the din; + The hours of toil are out of mind, + As if they had not been. + No thought of morrow that impends + Comes in between me and my friends. + + We reck not of the flight of time, + To them a subject strange; + They pass their days in a sublime + Indifference to change: + Theirs is the life that never ends; + Immortal beings are my friends. + + They toil not, neither do they spin; + Yet none is meanly drest; + And some are clad in costly skin, + And some in silken vest; + And everyone who sees commends + The decent habits of my friends. + + And some are short, and some are tall; + Some portly, and some spare; + Here is a group of pygmies small, + A Tom Thumb family; there + A Brobdingnagian row extends, + The best-informed among my friends. + + Wot one among them all is low, + A fellow to be spurned; + And none is ever rude, although + Their backs are often turned. + No observation that offends + Is dropped by any of my friends. + + And some are steeped in classic lore; + Some brim with wisdom sage; + And some can trace a far-off shore, + Or paint a former age; + And each his talent freely lends, + For talented are all my friends. + + Some tell of deeds and lives sublime + And triumphs over foes; + Some weave a spell of lofty rhyme, + Some charm with stately prose; + And here and there a mind unbends + Familiarly among my friends. + + In diction antiquated, quaint, + Or with a modern sound, + They speak their thoughts without restraint, + Although they're mostly bound; + And cease to speak when none attends, + A valued feature of my friends. + + Although they shun the thoughtless crowd, + The frivolous disdain, + Their titles have not made them proud, + Nor all their pages vain; + No common mortal less pretends, + None can be opener than my friends. + + They care not that they've all been cut, + A number by myself, + And often taken down, and put + As often on the shelf; + My estimation makes amends + For such ill-treatment of my friends. + + An ever-fresh, unfailing source + Of thought and sympathy, + What hours of goodly intercourse + They have afforded me! + I cannot doubt that heaven still sends + Us angels while I have my friends. + + If he who sits at home in gloom, + Or rushes here and there, + Will put a bookshelf in his room + And furnish it with care, + He'll bless the evenings that he spends + With such companions as my friends. + + + + + NOTHING TOO GOOD FOR THE IRISH. + + It's the Emerald Isle is the beautiful land: + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + O'er the whole of it, Nature, at heaven's command, + Has scattered her charms with a prodigal hand + From Skibbereen town to the Donegal strand; + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + And it's many a hero the Irish can claim: + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + "Red Hugh" put his country's invaders to shame; + Owen Roe was a fighter they never could tame; + As a nation the Irish have glory and fame; + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + And the Irish are noted for piety, too: + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + In the far-away time before Brian Boru, + The faith by Saint Patrick was planted and grew, + And the "Island of Saints" has had saints not a few: + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + And the best of all orators Irishmen are: + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + The voice of Columba was heard from afar, + Burke's eloquence rolled like a conquering car, + And the name of O'Connell's a radiant star; + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + And the Irishman always is witty, of course; + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + And his wit is as genial and kind as its source; + It never leaves anyone feeling the worse; + He makes bulls, but a good Irish bull's a white horse; + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + You are thinking, no doubt, to the race I belong: + There's nothing too good for the Irish. + You think I am Irish, but that's where you're wrong; + I am Scotch, but our love for the Irish is strong; + We gave them a saint and we'll give them a song; + For there's nothing too good for the Irish. + + + + + AN ENGLISH TOAST. + + The English soil!--'tis hallowed ground: + Its restless children roam + The world, but they have never found + So dear a land as home; + Their passion for its hills and downs + Nor space nor time can spoil; + A golden mist of memory crowns + The good old English soil. + + The English race!--its pluck and pith, + Its power to stay and win,-- + Wise Alfred's, dauntless Harold's kith, + And Coeur de Lion's kin! + Sir Philip Sidney, Hampden, Noll, + Who sat in kingly place! + Wolfe, Nelson, Wellington and all + The good old English race! + + The English speech!--the copious tongue, + Terse, vivid, plastic, fit, + Which Chaucer, Spenser loved and sung, + Which gave us Holy Writ; + Which Shakespeare, Milton used, to write, + Which Taylor used, to preach, + And Pitt, to speak, as we to-night-- + The good old English speech! + + "St. George and Merrie England!"--still + The stirring phrase imparts + Warmth to the blood, and sends a thrill + Through more than English hearts. + God save Old England by His grace! + We all alike beseech, + Who know the English soil or race + And speak the English speech. + + + + + THE SCOT. + + That no Scotsman is perfect, we freely confess, + Nor has been since the time of the fall; + Yet we think, notwithstanding and nevertheless, + He is "nae sheep-shank bane," after all. + "Sic excellent pairts" as he has will atone + For the lack of a tittle or jot; + And, although we don't boast, it is very well known + For some things you must go to a Scot. + + If you want a sweet song that comes straight from the heart + Of a man who had few for his peers, + An approved son of genius and master of art. + And a lover, with laughter and tears; + A song that gives honor to personal worth, + And ennobles the lowliest lot, + And makes brothers of all who inhabit the earth; + You must go "for a' that" to a Scot. + + If you want a good story, entrancingly told, + By a genuine king of the pen, + A right royal dispenser of things new and old, + And a faithful portrayer of men; + A tale that will brighten your work and your play, + And will do what some others do not,-- + Give you knowledge and wisdom and heart for the fray; + You will go to Sir Walter, the Scot. + + If you want the high spirit that scorns to make truce + With a foeman on suppliant knee, + The untameable will of a Wallace or Bruce, + Or the dash of a Bonnie Dundee; + Fierce courage that nothing on earth can subdue, + Sense of honor that shrinks from a blot, + Inexhaustible loyalty, loving and true, + You will find them to-day in a Scot. + + If you want an intense love of country and kin, + An attachment as tender as strong, + That can gar the blood leap when the pipers begin, + And the tear start at sound of a song; + A grand patriotic devotion and pride, + That makes sanctified ground of the spot + Where a Scotsman for freedom has suffered and died; + You will find what you want in a Scot. + + If you want a hale-bodied and clear-headed chiel, + Independent and honest and good, + With a hand that can do and a heart that can feel, + And tenacious of purpose--and shrewd; + Whose thrift makes the face of prosperity smile, + Who's contented with what he has got, + But is ready and careful to add to his pile; + You may find what you want in a Scot. + + Gin ye wush a douce body, auldfarrant and gash, + Unco' waukrife and couthie and braw, + Ower eydent wi' daft clishmaclavers to fash, + Or to thole whigmaleeries ava; + Mak's nae collieshangie wad fley a bit flee, + But is siccer and dour as a stot; + Tak's the scone and the kebbuck and carries the gree; + Ye'll be spierin', gude faith! for a Scot. + + +GLOSSARY.--"Nae sheep-shank bane" (Burns), no unimportant person; +"gars," makes; "chiel," fellow; "gin," if; "wush," wish; "douce," +sober; "auldfarrant," wise; "gash," sagacious; "unco," uncommonly; +"waukrife," wideawake; "couthie," kindly; "braw," handsome; "ower," +over; "eydent," busy; "daft," foolish; "clishmaclavers," idle talk; +"fash," trouble; "thole," bear; "whigmaleeries," crotchets; "ava," at +all; "collieshangie," commotion; "fley," disturb; "siccer," steady; +"dour," stubborn; "stot," ox; "scone," a cake; "kebbuck," a cheese; +"carries the gree" (Burns), has the pre-eminence; "spierin'," inquiring. + + + + + THE ROARIN' GAME. + + The roarin' game, the roarin' game, + From Scotland's bonnie land it came, + The land of loch and firth and ben, + And comely dames and stalwart men; + It crossed the broad Atlantic tide + With Scots who came to dwell this side, + And bring our country wealth and fame, + The roarin' game, the roarin' game. + + The roarin' game, the roarin' game + Makes every land to Scotsmen "hame"; + Where'er the winter's breath congeals + The water, see the sturdy "chiels" + With "stane" and besom play and sweep, + Intently gaze, and shout and leap, + With genial fervor all aflame:-- + The roarin' game, the roarin' game. + + The roarin' game, the roarin' game, + Though stupid folk may think it tame, + Affect the smile that wisdom casts + On rattle-brained enthusiasts, + And jest in condescending tones + Of boys and marbles, men and stones; + 'Tis fine enjoyment just the same, + The roarin' game, the roarin' game. + + The roarin' game, the roarin' game + Its meed of praise may justly claim: + As firm as ice upon the pond + It is of hearts a brother bond; + It trains us to be wise and true + In all we undertake to do, + And fits for every higher aim, + The roarin' game, the roarin' game, + + The roarin' game, the roarin' game + Will never give us cause for shame, + No shattered nerves and aching heads, + Bad consciences and nameless dreads, + But health and strength and minds serene + And kindly hearts and friendly mien: + No honest tongue will e'er defame + The roarin' game, the roarin' game. + + + + + THE OLD SCOTTISH MINISTER. + + A man he was of Scottish race, + And ancient Scottish name; + Of common mould, but lofty mien, + That dignified his frame. + And he lived a humble, quiet life, + Obscure, unknown to fame; + God's glory and the good of man + His constant, only aim: + Like a fine old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + He dearly loved his gentle wife, + As everyone could tell; + And watched his children as they grew, + Lest any ill befell; + And as he looked upon his boys + His bosom oft would swell; + For he reared them in the fear of God, + And ruled his household well: + Like a true old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + A father, too, he was to all + His congregation there: + To all he felt a father's love, + And showed a father's care: + He wisely counselled them with speech, + And pled for them in prayer; + And ever for the needy ones + He something had to spare: + Like a kind old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + The servant of the Lord he was, + In hovel and in hall,-- + The high ambassador of heaven + Whom earth could not enthrall; + Like Christ among the wedding guests, + Or by the funeral pall; + And he made his daily life sublime, + A pattern unto all: + Like a grand old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + For truth and righteousness and love + His voice was ever heard; + And minds were kindled into thought, + And consciences were stirred, + And weary, heavy-laden hearts + To faith and hope were spurred, + As from the pulpit he proclaimed + The everlasting Word: + Like a faithful Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + And when, amid his elders grave, + Extended in a line + Beside the table of the Lord, + He kept the rite divine, + His face with a rapt, unearthly look + Was seen to strangely shine, + As he broke the white, symbolic bread, + And passed the sacred wine: + Like a saintly Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + His lot was hard, his task severe; + He found the burden light: + When darkly o'er his pathway hung + The shadows of the night, + His heart was steadfast, for he walked + By faith, and not by sight; + And ran triumphantly his course, + And fought a goodly fight: + Like a brave old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + And when upon a summer's day + He laid him down to die, + He called his household to his side + Without a moan or sigh, + And blessed his children each in turn, + And said a fond good-bye, + And then consigned his soul to God, + And went to live on high: + Like a good old Scottish minister, + All of the olden time. + + + + + THE MACS. + + There's a race, or a part of a race, if you will, + Of renown prehistoric, and vigorous still, + Who back from their fastnesses scornfully hurl'd + The redoubtable legions that trampled the world; + They repelled, and they only, the Roman attacks, + The stalwart, courageous, impetuous Macs. + + When the red-bearded pirates, the Saxons and Danes + And Angles, came swarming across the sea plains, + And the old British stock to exterminate tried, + Caledonia and Erin their efforts defied; + And the conquering Normans were glad to make tracks + From the Macs and the Mics (who are properly Macs). + + Their proud patronymics, they rightfully hold, + Proclaim them descended from heroes of old.-- + Illustrious titles that throw in the shade + The dukedoms and earldoms but yesterday made; + And even the King with his royalty lacks + A lineage as ancient as that of the Macs. + + They are old and yet young, with a spirit possest + By the dream of the East and the hope of the West; + The earth is their country, the race is their kin; + In populous cities their guerdon they win, + And in gold miners' cabins and lumbermen's shacks + You will find the ubiquitous, venturesome Macs. + + Distinguished they've been with the sword and the pen; + In pulpit and parliament, leaders of men; + Prime ministers, presidents, merchants, viziers, + They have manag'd the business of both hemispheres; + And the Dago day-laborers laying the tracks + Are boss'd by the Macs or the Mics (who are Macs). + + 'Twas thought by the ancients that Atlas upbore + The sphere on his shoulders--'tis thought so no more; + Prometheus and Atlas and all of their kith, + The Titans, are now but a fable, a myth. + The men who are bearing the world on their backs + Are the Macs and the Mics (who are mixed with the Macs). + + + + + THE PARSON AT THE HOCKEY MATCH. + + It's very disagreeable to sit here in the cold, + And a sinful waste of time--ah, well, it's too late now to scold; + I'll think about my sermon and my prayers for Sunday next, + And the young folks may be happy--let me see--what was my text? + But what a throng of people--an immortal soul in each: + With such an audience this would be a splendid place to preach. + I'd have the pulpit half-way down--what ice! without a smirch! + Here are the men--I wonder if they ever go to church. + "The teams?" Ah, yes, "the forwards, point, and cover-point and goal"; + Thank you, my dear, I understand--is that a lump of coal? + "Rubber?" Ah, yes, "The puck?" just so! One's holding it, I see-- + That fellow with his clothes all on--ah, that's the referee. + What was he whistling for--his dog? Why, they've begun to play; + Well, well, that's rough; I really think we're doing wrong to stay. + It's sickening, deafening; dear! I wish this uproar could be stilled. + I do sincerely trust there'll not be anybody killed. + + It's a wondrous exhibition of alertness, speed, and strength. + I suppose there's not much danger--there's a fellow at full length. + He's up again; that's plucky. Well, the little lad has pluck-- + And now he's master of the ice, possessor of the puck. + He dodges two opponents, but collides with one at last, + A Philistine Goliath--David baffles him and fast + Darts onward o'er the whitening sheet, while from each crowded row + The crazed spectators cheer him on--Look!--has he lost it? No! + He's clear again. Played, played, my boy. I'd like to see him score:-- + (I'll have no voice for Sunday if I shout like this much more)-- + But there his ruthless enemies o'erwhelm him in a shoal-- + Well played, you hero, safely passed. Now for a shot on goal. + Shoot, shoot, you duffer; shoot, you goose, you ass, you great galoot, + You addle-pated idiot, you nincompoop, you--shoot! + You've lost it! Never mind--well tried--that other dash was grand. + Why do they stop? "Off side," you say? I don't quite understand. + That's puzzling. I suppose it's right. I wish they'd not delay. + This is a most provoking interruption to the play. + + "Cold?" Nothing of the sort. I was--I'm heated with the game. + I'm really enjoying it; indeed, I'm glad I came. + I'd like to see both ends at once; I can't from where we sit. + They've scored one yonder--What's the row? A player has been hit? + Such things are bound to happen in a rapid game like this; + They'll soon resume the play, my dear; there's nothing much amiss,-- + Some trifling accident received in a rough body check, + A shoulder dislocated or a fracture of the neck. + Oh, no, it's nothing serious--the game begins again. + They're here, a writhing, struggling mass of half a dozen men + Battling and groaning with the strife, and breathing hard and fast, + Swayed back and forth and stooping low like elms before the blast, + Changing their places like a fleet of vessels tempest-driven + That blindly meet within the waves and part with timbers riven, + Waving their sticks with frantic zeal--But isn't this a sight? + My goodness! I could sit and watch a game like this all night. + There, dirty trousers, there's your chance. Muffed it! Why weren't + you quick? + This is a sight to make the sad rejoice, to heal the sick, + To rouse the drones and give them life to last them half a year-- + Hit him again!--I wish I had my congregation here. + + My stars! and this is hockey. Hockey's the king of sports. + This is the thing to come to when you're feeling out of sorts. + This is the greatest holiday I've had for many weeks. + This helps one to appreciate the feeling of the Greeks. + I understand my Homer now--O Hercules, behold + Yon Trojan giant, he that's cast in an Olympian mould, + Ye gods, he more than doubled up that other stalwart cove-- + Here comes swift-footed Mercury, the messenger of Jove. + Adown the blue, outstripping all, he speeds. Oh, what a spurt! + His shoulders have no wings, but see, he has them on his shirt. + He's broken through the forward line, baffled the cover-point, + Thrown down the other man and knocked their game all out of joint. + And now he rushes on the goal--this makes the senses reel-- + Goal! goal! hurrah! hurrah! well done, men of the winged wheel! + + At last--how soon!--the game is done; I've scarcely drawn a breath. + This getting out is difficult; I'm almost crushed to death. + The cars are packed; how we'll get home I'm sure I do not know. + Here's room for you; get up, my dears; I'll walk; away you go. + + My sermon's gone, but as I walk I cannot help but think + That, after all, perhaps I've found a sermon in the rink. + + This world is an arena with a slippery sheet of ice, + And all have skates and hockey sticks and enter without price. + And seats are round for those who rest--the idle and the old; + But those who are not in the game are apt to find it cold. + Some play defence, some forward, with terrific speed and stress. + The puck keeps flying 'twixt the goals of failure and success, + Now up, now down, across and back, here, there, and everywhere. + + The grit of skates, the crack of sticks, the shouting, fill the air. + Some slip and fall a thousand times and spring up in a trice; + Some go to pieces on their feet and have to leave the ice; + Some play offside, kick, tackle, trip, try every kind of foul; + Some players are forever cheered, some only get a howl. + We seldom hear the whistle of the watchful Referee, + Who mostly lets the game go on as if He didn't see. + No gong rings out half-time to let the players get their breath-- + To most full time comes only with the solemn stroke of death. + The winners are not always those who make the biggest score: + The vanquished oft are victors when the stubborn game is o'er; + For many things are added to make up the grand amount, + And everything is taken at the last into account-- + The sort of sticks we played with, and the way our feet were shod, + For the trophy is Salvation and the Referee is God. + + God prosper our Canadian sports and keep them clean and pure, + Whole-hearted, manly, generous, and let them long endure! + Long live each honest winter sport, each good Canadian game, + To train the youth in lusty health and iron strength of frame, + To make them noble, vigorous, straightforward, ardent, bold, + Nearer a perfect standard than the grandest knights of old. + + Keep in the path of rectitude the young throughout the land, + And guide them ever on their way by thine unerring hand, + Along the slippery path of life in safety toward the goal, + And keep their bodies holy as the temples of the soul: + For the river of the future from the present's fountain runs, + And a nation's hope is founded on the virtue of her sons. + + The glory of a man is strength, Thy wisdom hath declared: + Let strength increase, and strength of frame with strength of will + be paired, + And let these twain go hand in hand with strength of heart and mind, + And strength of character present all forms of strength combined. + Oh, make out strength the strength of men to perfect stature grown, + And use it for thine ends and turn man's glory to thine own. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Canada, My Land, by W. 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