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.