Tradition cannot claim
Dominion over thee,
Nor fear the pinions maim
Of thy young soul and free.
All things to thee are new.
Thy mind runs in no groove.
Thou dost both false and true
Question alike, and prove.
Thou art no shadowy soul,
But the incarnate “I”,
And thou wilt reach thy goal,
Or failing, thou wouldst die.
Indomitable will
That makes us all obey,—
If I were childlike still,
I were more man to-day.
TO SCOTLAND.
Miles upon miles of ocean
’Twixt Scotland roll and me.
Its hills and dales I have not seen,
And scarce expect to see.
The homestead of my fathers
The keen ploughshare has torn,
And where the hearth once welcomed all
Waves now the golden corn.
Oh, Canada, my country,
My love for thee is deep,
Yet I fain would see the old church-yard
Where my forefathers sleep.
And fondly, ever fondly,
My heart in secret yearns,
That its songs may find a welcome
In the bonnie land of Burns.
Upon the Scottish heather
I opened not my eyes,
I cannot speak the sweet Scotch tongue,
Remote my pathway lies;
Yet Scotland, mother Scotland,
Though fate us twain may part,
I claim my heritage of thee,
For I have the Scottish heart.