come
reeling down its bays. This is a new-peopled land of fostered folk
and, of times, men's hearts fail them lest these stranger-guests march
not in step with the genius of the race. We who are your sister
provinces, O Columbia by the Sea, stretch forth our hands to you and
pray you as sentinels to keep our portals straitly, but,
notwithstanding, that you be wise in love to all things living....
And, now, to the hither side of the mountains have come these western
men of erect spirit to sing with us the song of the North and of Canada.

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