But oh the vast and mighty peace that broods

On these green solitudes,

Where the great land, with one tremendous tone,

Litanies to God, alone!

Tongue of the continent! Thou whose hymning shakes

The bosom of the lakes!

O sacrificial torrent, keen and bright,

Hurled from thy glorious height!

Thou sacerdotal presence, clothed in power,

At once the victim and the white-robed priest,