I am the key to its golden doors,
That open alone to me.
(2) C.P.R. Eastbound.
I swing to the land of morn,
The grey old east with its grey old seas,
The land of leisure, the land of ease,
The land of flowers and fruits and trees,
And the place where we were born.
Freighted with wealth I come,—
Food and fortune; and fellow that went