I wish my pen might tell you of our song, but this were a hard task, for while our voices are tuned to one chord our themes are manifold. Whatsoever things a man may desire, these may he find in his Mother Canada. Some men sing of her ample skies and the incorruptible glory of them; of her changing climes, limitless fields, and law-loving spirit. Others have pleasant cause of song in the rivers that give water to the people; in far-strung wires and clear highways to the sea; and in her great institutions of beneficence which conserve the moral energies of the citizens.
Some, in voice which sounds like supplication, sing that a sense of safety may be preserved in our homes, and that sweet tranquility may be the lot of our aged folk.
Others would have it that our ballot-strips fall from clean hands, and that no man thinks only of his own Province but of the well-being and good health of all.
May our children, O Canada! have strong bodies and souls above the lusts of gain, urges one, and let the women of our Dominion be skilled in mother-craft, but with their house windows open to the intellectual breezes of the world.... And I, of myself, am stirred to do tribute of praise. I am thy child, O Canada, dear Mother! How shall I have wisdom to order my words aright? O my lips sing this song! Sweet, my pen, tell this tale, for the fullness of my heart has made heavy my hand.
I will make a crown of maple leaves for you, and will twist them with flowers of the lily. See! I bring you native flowers; mint and roses and clover blooms. I bring you golden-rod and marigolds, and berries that are red. Take these from my hands, Good Mother! My heart is awed and I cannot speak aright.
Listen! All of us who sing to you have joined hands—Northmen and Southerners and men of the coast-line. It is our wish to tell your glory aloud that all may hear. It is wiser still to leave a part untold that the world may the better know it.
Hail to thee, O Canada, and hail to the flag! We who are thy children salute thee!
THE END