Look yonder where the engines toil;
These England's arms, of conquest are,
The trophies of her bloodless war:
Brave weapons these.
Victorious over wave and soil,
With these she sails, she weaves, she tills
Pierces the everlasting hills,
And spans the seas.
The engine roars upon its race,
The shuttle whirrs along the woof,
The people hum from floor to roof,
With Babel tongue.
The fountain in the basin plays,
The chanting organ echoes clear,
An awful chorus 'tis to hear,
A wondrous song!
Swell organ, swell your trumpet blast,
March, Queen, and Royal pageant, march
By splendid aisle and springing arch
Of this fair Hall:
And see! above the fabric vast,
God's boundless Heaven is bending blue,
God's peaceful Sun is beaming through
And shining over all.
April 29.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] The St. Lawrence.