If you ask how that mustard seed flourished, and spread its great branches abroad,
If you ask at what sacrifice nourished or watered with what noble blood?
Lo! the pages of history answer. There ’tis written in letters of gold
How each was a Christian and soldier, who founded Ville Marie of old.
They lived on the confines of chaos. Whenever the savage horde broke
On the ill-fated colony, they were the first whose arm parried the stroke.
They were Dollards in heart, and went even to torture and death with a smile,
While the women, like angels of mercy, stanched their wounds and their woes did beguile.
None braver, and no one more gentle, none wiser in council than he,
Maisonneuve, this, the new world’s defender, who for God held his whole life in fee.
He led them in worship, consoled them when thickly their troubles did fall,
Maisonneuve the undaunted, the founder, Æneas of old Montreal.
And here where he battled lone-handed with savages thirsting for blood,
Where now beats the pulse of a city, the heart of a new nationhood,
Long years may his monument stand that our children may ask and be told
Of the leader who founded Ville Marie, and honor the heroes of old.
TIMOR MORTIS CONTURBAT ME.
(The Fear of Death Affrights Me.)
Shall I too sing, as he sang of old,
The tuneful singer beyond the sea,
When life’s flame sank and his blood waxed cold,
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Earth is so fair to look upon,
And life so sweet, though there sorrows be,
Why welcome the summons to be gone?
Timor mortis conturbat me.
Wife that I love as the sea the moon,
Babes that prattle about my knee;
Has heaven itself a dearer boon?
Timor mortis conturbat me.