Brant, a Memorial Ode

Young Canada with mighty force sweeps on
To gain in power and strength, before the dawn
That brings another era; when the sun
Shall rise again, but only shine upon
Her Indian graves, and Indian memories.
For as the carmine in the twilight skies
Will fade as night comes on, so fades the race
That unto Might and therefore Right gives place,
And as white clouds float hurriedly and high
Across the crimson of a sunset sky,
Although their depths are foamy as the snow,
Their beauty lies in their vermillion glow,
So Canada, thy plumes were hardly won
Without allegiance from thy Indian son,
Thy glories, like the cloud enhance their charm
With red reflections from the Mohawk's arm.
Then meet we as one common Brotherhood,
In peace and love, with purpose understood—
To lift a lasting tribute to the name
Of Brant—who linked his own, with Britain's fame,
Who bade his people leave their valley home,
Where nature in her fairest aspect shone,
Where rolls the Mohawk river, and the land
Is blessed with every good from Heaven's hand,
To sweep the tide of home affections back
And love the land where waves the Union Jack.
What though that home no longer ours! To-day
The Six Red Nations have their Canada,
And rest we here, no cause for us to rise
To seek protection under other skies,
Encircling us an arm both true and brave
Extends from far across the great Salt wave,
Though but a woman's hand 'tis firm and strong
Enough to guard us from all fear of wrong,
A hand on which all British subjects lean—
The loving hand of England's Noble Queen.
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