Classic Poem

Who sneers she's but a colony—
No national spirit there;
Race differences, faction's feuds
Her flag to tatters tear?

What rises o'er those snowy plains?
What flouts the Western sky?
Whence on the virgin white those stains?
Whose is that crimson dye?

Rebellion's ensign blots the blue,
And mars its fretwork gold,
And near those stains of crimson hue,
Canadian hearts lie cold.

Another ensign! Trumpets ring!
A youth this flag upholds;
And lo! from every side men spring
And range beneath its folds.

Nor race, nor creed, the patriot's sword,
Nor faction blunts to-day.
“Forward for Canada!” 's the word,
And, eager for the fray,

Our youth press on and carpers shame,
Their bearing bold and high,
For this young nation's peace and fame.
Ready to do or die.

They come from hamlet and from town,
From hill and wood and glade,
From where great palaces look down
On streets that roar with trade;

From whence by floe and rocky bar,
The Atlantic's held in check;
From where Wolfe's glory, like a star,
Shines down on old Quebec;

From where Mount Royal rises proud
O'er Cartier's city fair;
From where Chaudière with thundercloud,
Flings high its smoke in air;

From pleasant cities rich and old
That gem Ontario's shore;
From where Niagara's awful plunge
Makes its eternal roar;

From each new town, just sprung to life,
Mid flowery prairies wide;
From where first Riel kindled strife
To Calgary's rapid tide.

Upon the field, all rancour healed,
There's no discordant hue;
The Orange marches with the Green,
The Rouge beside the Bleu.

One purpose now fires every eye,
Rebellion foul to slay,
“Forward for Canada!” 's the cry,
And all are one to-day.