Atlantic and far Pacific sweeping her, keel to deck.
North of her, ice and arctics; southward a rival’s stealth;
Aloft, her Empire’s pennant; below, her nation’s wealth.
Daughter of men and markets, bearing within her hold,
Appraised at highest value, cargoes of grain and gold.
Similar Posts
To-night the west o’er-brims with warmest dyes;
With pools of purple colouring the skies,Aflood with gold and rose;And some hot soul seems throbbing close to mine,As sinks the sun within that world of wine.I seem to hear a bar of music floatAnd swoon into the west;My ear can scarcely catch the whispered note,But something in my breastBlends with that strain, till both…
We first saw light in Canada, the land beloved of God;
And we, the men of Canada, can face the world and bragThat we were born in Canada beneath the British flag.Few of us have the blood of kings, few are of courtly birth,But few are vagabonds or rogues of doubtful name and worth;And all have one credential that entitles us to brag–That we were born…
Born on the breast of the prairie, she smiles to her sire–the sun,
Affluence knocks at her gateways, opulence waits to be won.Nuggets of gold are her acres, yielding and yellow with spoil,Dream of the hungry millions, dawn of the food-filled age,Over the starving tale of want her fingers have turned the page;Nations will nurse at her storehouse, and God gives her grain for wage.
Up the dusk-enfolded prairie,
Velvet cushioned, wild and wary,Then–the coyote’s cry.Rush of hoofs, and roar and rattle,Beasts of blood and breed,Twenty thousand frightened cattle,Then–the wild stampede.Pliant lasso circling widerIn the frenzied flight–Loping horse and cursing rider,Plunging through the night.Rim of dawn the darkness losingTrail of blackened soil;Perfume of the sage brush oozingOn the air like oil.Foothills to the Rockies…
MUSKOKA
Of filmy sun, and opal tinted skies;Of warm midsummer air that lightly liesIn mystic rings,Where softly swingsThe music of a thousand wingsThat almost tones to sadness.Midway ‘twixt earth and heaven,A bubble in the pearly air, I seemTo float upon the sapphire floor, a dreamOf clouds of snow,Above, below,Drift with my drifting, dim and slow,As twilight…
There is a lonely minor chord that sings
When the firs finger faintly on the stringsOf that rare violin the night wind plays,Just as it whispered once to you and meBeneath the English pines beyond the sea.