Classic Poem

Now let the Lord of Hosts be praised!
Cheer brave Fitzgibbon's band,
Whose bold discretion won the day,
And saved our threatened land!

And cheer that weary traveller,
On lowly couch that lies,
And scarce can break the heavy spell.
That holds her waking eyes.

No chaplet wreathes her aching brows.
No paeans rend the air;
But in her breast a jewel glows
The tried and true may wear.

And Time shall twine her wreath of bays
Immortal as her fame,
And many a generation joy,
In Laura Secord's name.

" Fitzgibbon and the Forty-ninth! "
Whene'er ye drink that toast
To brave deeds done a grateful land,
Praise Laura Secord most.

As one who from the charged mine
Coils back the lighted fuse,
'T was hers, at many a fearful risk,
To carry fateful news;

And save the dreadnought band; and give
To Beaver Dam a name,
The pride of true Canadian hearts,
Of others, but the shame.