CANADA.

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OhCanada! great Canada!Land of all lands to be;Farewell to lays of olden clime!We touch the lyre for thee.For thee, Oh gracious, morning land!Through cycles of renownThy leal of heart, and firm of handShall guard thy spotless crown.Exhaustless, boundless Canada!Thy myriad forests wave;Thy snow-capped mountains cleave the skies;Thy shores, two oceans lave.Thy sea-wide lakes, thy rivers boldAre worlds of crystal sheen;And vast as empires famed of oldThy prairies, rolling green.Oh fair and beauteous Canada!Aneath thy sapphire sky,Gay-plumaged warblers wing their flightO'er flowers of gorgeous dye,Which own no faint, exotic blushOf Care's trim, training hand;Rich dowered of health, with nature's flush,They brighten all the land.Yet, not thy beauty, Canada,Could hold thy people's love;Yet not thy vastness, nor thy mightCould soul of nations move.But this, that o'er thy gleaming lakes,And through thy waving pines,The glory of a future breaks;The sun of freedom shines.Thou may'st not boast, fair Canada!The soft, spice-laden breeze;Or palm of Ethiopian land,Or pearl of Ceylon seas.Yet thine no dread, samiel curse,To blight thy emerald plains;Thine only wholesome air, to nursePure blood in patriot veins.Thou may'st not point, young Canada!To sumptuous mosques of pride;Or watery highways, where with song,The gay gondolas glide.But thine, beneath wide starry dome,Along ten thousand streams,O'er many a league of richest loam,To animate life dreams.Thou opest, regal Canada!Floodgates off either sea;And tyrant-crushed, and crushed of fate,Find peaceful rest in thee.Upon thy generous-yielding sward,And round thy teeming coast,Just labor finds its just award;Nor heart of hope is lost.Oh high-souled! hopeful Canada!Long may thy banner waveO'er soil where will to work is gold,Nor man nor mind is slave.God's grace thee further, lovèd land!Live thou thy high behest!So shalt thou 'mid the nations standErect; through blessing blest.

Exhaustless, boundless Canada!Thy myriad forests wave;Thy snow-capped mountains cleave the skies;Thy shores, two oceans lave.Thy sea-wide lakes, thy rivers boldAre worlds of crystal sheen;And vast as empires famed of oldThy prairies, rolling green.

Oh fair and beauteous Canada!Aneath thy sapphire sky,Gay-plumaged warblers wing their flightO'er flowers of gorgeous dye,Which own no faint, exotic blushOf Care's trim, training hand;Rich dowered of health, with nature's flush,They brighten all the land.

Yet, not thy beauty, Canada,Could hold thy people's love;Yet not thy vastness, nor thy mightCould soul of nations move.But this, that o'er thy gleaming lakes,And through thy waving pines,The glory of a future breaks;The sun of freedom shines.

Thou may'st not boast, fair Canada!The soft, spice-laden breeze;Or palm of Ethiopian land,Or pearl of Ceylon seas.Yet thine no dread, samiel curse,To blight thy emerald plains;Thine only wholesome air, to nursePure blood in patriot veins.

Thou may'st not point, young Canada!To sumptuous mosques of pride;Or watery highways, where with song,The gay gondolas glide.But thine, beneath wide starry dome,Along ten thousand streams,O'er many a league of richest loam,To animate life dreams.

Thou opest, regal Canada!Floodgates off either sea;And tyrant-crushed, and crushed of fate,Find peaceful rest in thee.Upon thy generous-yielding sward,And round thy teeming coast,Just labor finds its just award;Nor heart of hope is lost.

Oh high-souled! hopeful Canada!Long may thy banner waveO'er soil where will to work is gold,Nor man nor mind is slave.God's grace thee further, lovèd land!Live thou thy high behest!So shalt thou 'mid the nations standErect; through blessing blest.

Tho'rough be the path thou art destined to tread,Let courage and truth be thy stay;Thy course be straight onward, aye looking ahead,Doubt not, neither droop by the way.Who spanned the wide ocean, who narrowed the soil,With spirits untrammeled of fear,Have found, through the struggle, the sorrow, the toil,Sure help from on high ever near.He had ta'en his last look of those terraced hillsWhere the golden and green intertwine;Where song of the peasant doth sing in the rills,As he gleaneth the fruit of the vine.He had breathed fond adieux to his own loved land,A land of rare science and art;Where learning's vast treasure to genius lends hand,And knowledge ennobleth the heart.Aglow with the fire of a heavenly grace,He had sailed for the ice drift and snow;With vigor of purpose had ventured his faceTo yet fiercer, more deadly foe.To the darkening scowl of the dusky crewHe would radiate beams of love;Would labor and bide, with his well-chosen few,The unction bestowed from above.They told him of brothers who perished before;Of the tortures of savage hate;Vain pleading! it stirred but his courage the moreTo conquer, or share in their fate.Not his to recall, with a sigh of regret,Those voices far over the main;Where the sun of his brilliant boyhood set,On the banks of the royal Seine.Not his to feel faint on the thorniest path,Or to shrink whate'er might betide:They know not, or heed not humanity's wrathWho are vowed to the Crucified.He gazed on the shore, with its dark fringe of pine;To the heavens, with bright disc on the blue;Then, lightened his vision with rapture divine;The future arose to his view."I shall go," said he, "unto MontrealThough each tree were an Iroquois!"And the God of the dauntless hearkened his call,The God of the martyred ones saw.Now the great city smiles where the grim forest loomed,And the red man boweth the knee;And the Cross which was trampled in triumph hath bloomedFrom mountain to uttermost sea.

He had ta'en his last look of those terraced hillsWhere the golden and green intertwine;Where song of the peasant doth sing in the rills,As he gleaneth the fruit of the vine.He had breathed fond adieux to his own loved land,A land of rare science and art;Where learning's vast treasure to genius lends hand,And knowledge ennobleth the heart.

Aglow with the fire of a heavenly grace,He had sailed for the ice drift and snow;With vigor of purpose had ventured his faceTo yet fiercer, more deadly foe.To the darkening scowl of the dusky crewHe would radiate beams of love;Would labor and bide, with his well-chosen few,The unction bestowed from above.

They told him of brothers who perished before;Of the tortures of savage hate;Vain pleading! it stirred but his courage the moreTo conquer, or share in their fate.Not his to recall, with a sigh of regret,Those voices far over the main;Where the sun of his brilliant boyhood set,On the banks of the royal Seine.

Not his to feel faint on the thorniest path,Or to shrink whate'er might betide:They know not, or heed not humanity's wrathWho are vowed to the Crucified.He gazed on the shore, with its dark fringe of pine;To the heavens, with bright disc on the blue;Then, lightened his vision with rapture divine;The future arose to his view.

"I shall go," said he, "unto MontrealThough each tree were an Iroquois!"And the God of the dauntless hearkened his call,The God of the martyred ones saw.Now the great city smiles where the grim forest loomed,And the red man boweth the knee;And the Cross which was trampled in triumph hath bloomedFrom mountain to uttermost sea.

'Twasin the lone, uncultured wildsOf far Assiniboia,Ere commerce took its giant strideFrom east to western sea.From grasp of lordly tyrannyCame brave and sturdy band;The sons of sires who framed the old,To build the fair, new land.The red men tracked the hunter's pathThrough miles of gloomy wood;And now, with whoop and fiendish yell,Before their victim stood.With rifle shot he kept his ground,And held the foe at bay;Yet, what avail his single strength!Ten times his number they.He leaped upon a rocky ledgeWhich overhung the wave;Far kindlier fate than scalping-knife,The risk of watery grave.He glanced towards his precious havenUpon its patch of green;He saw his loved ones by the door,But—the river rolled between.Another saw; love prompted wit;Upon the grassy floorShe laid her babe, then fleetly soughtThe wherry by the shore.With strong, young arm she plied the oar;The waters twirl and toss;'Tis vain! beneath that cataractNo human power may cross.List! through the noisome, seething surge,A voice of hope and cheer:"Leap in, and swim adown the stream,I'll meet you—never fear!"The current bears the slight skiff on,The Indians' arrows fly,But the huntsman's form is seen no moreAgainst that lurid sky.For he hath plunged into the foamAnd, borne upon the tide,Is now beyond all chance of harm,His brave wife by his side.Saved by that faith-inspiring LoveWhich glorifies the hearth;Which amply fills with choice-drawn wealth,And crowns the loves of earth.

The red men tracked the hunter's pathThrough miles of gloomy wood;And now, with whoop and fiendish yell,Before their victim stood.With rifle shot he kept his ground,And held the foe at bay;Yet, what avail his single strength!Ten times his number they.

He leaped upon a rocky ledgeWhich overhung the wave;Far kindlier fate than scalping-knife,The risk of watery grave.He glanced towards his precious havenUpon its patch of green;He saw his loved ones by the door,But—the river rolled between.

Another saw; love prompted wit;Upon the grassy floorShe laid her babe, then fleetly soughtThe wherry by the shore.With strong, young arm she plied the oar;The waters twirl and toss;'Tis vain! beneath that cataractNo human power may cross.

List! through the noisome, seething surge,A voice of hope and cheer:"Leap in, and swim adown the stream,I'll meet you—never fear!"The current bears the slight skiff on,The Indians' arrows fly,But the huntsman's form is seen no moreAgainst that lurid sky.

For he hath plunged into the foamAnd, borne upon the tide,Is now beyond all chance of harm,His brave wife by his side.Saved by that faith-inspiring LoveWhich glorifies the hearth;Which amply fills with choice-drawn wealth,And crowns the loves of earth.

Wherefrowning bulwarks guard the coastAround our sea-girt Isle,Where wildest winters wreak their wrath,And sweetest summers smile.In holy calm of eventideWhich crowned the sunbright day,We sat upon a grassy knollThat overlooked the bay.All glorious the lingering lightFrom out the radiant west,As loath to leave a scene so fair,Illumined ocean's crest.Along the path, with quiet tread,There came an aged formWhose sunburnt features told that heHad weathered many a storm.He'd held command in goodly craftOn nigh and far off seas;Had furled the sail on foreign strand,And scoured 'fore every breeze.Now, 'yond all lure of worldly wealthThrough commerce on the foam,He anchored where affection set,Within his childhood's home.Nor tide, nor wind, nor black storm-cloudCould bar his passage more,As he waited sailing ordersFor glad Beulah's shore.We asked him, as he rested near,If he the story knewOf that bleak, lonely cape which stretchedUpon our right hand view."I can relate," he said, "the taleMy grandsire told to me:—It happened in the year of graceSeventeen sixty-three."That year the Isle of St. JeanWas ceded, this you know,To Britain, in the treaty signedBy France, at Fontainebleau."French privateers, which robbed our coast,Were harassed by our men;McKenzie, with a British sloopUnaided, captured ten."One, fleeter than the rest escaped,Commanded by Le Force;In dread of foes, or unknown seas,He held a leeward course."But all too fast the gallant shipBore down towards the bay;Caught on deceitful shifting sands,A stranded wreck she lay."The boats made shore, the crew dispersed,One officer remainedWith his commander, and large shareOf ill-won booty gained."On yonder cape they pitched a tent,And from the vessel's storeIn haste, with slightest interval,Much precious freight they bore."But where 'twas hid no mortal knew;Folk say within yon grove,Whose crowding giants dull the day,Exists the treasure-trove."Be't so or not, to me it seemsThis cursed greed of goldShuts all the finer feelings out,Deforms life's fairest mould."Rends rare affection's dearest ties,Transforms the friend to foe;In battlefield of worldly gainSmites with unsparing blow."Repels all humanizing love;In haste to reach its goal,Draws even from gates of paradiseThe earnest, God-ward soul."Two daring youths, from hamlet nigh,Through motives curious, wentWhen friendly even lent its shades,Anear the strangers' tent."They heard dispute o'er money hoard,Then louder, wrathful tones,Which hotter, higher, waxed untilThey sunk in low, faint moans."Next morn three sturdy fishermenSteered out across the wave;They heeded not the swelling surge,Their hearts were firm and brave."But, Oh! what vision met their gaze!Upon that silent shoreThe Captain of the stranded barkLay stiffening in his gore."Far from his loved inLa Belle France,Far from his native plain;Where longing eyes, and yearning heartsMight long for him in vain."He died not as the soldier dies;For country and for king;For him no martial banners wave,No lyre his praise doth sing."Rough hands, but souls of sympathy,Entombed him where he fell;While sounding ocean wailed his dirge,And wavelets rang his knell."Now, until ocean yields her dead,Till dries yon river's source,That cape, baptizèd with his blood,Shall bear the name 'Le Force.'"He paused. "What of the murderer?And what to him befell?""He fled, from that dread hour of guiltNo tongue his fate could tell."No legal technicalityCould painthisblack as white,Or color with a golden tingeThe blackness of his night."Though richly-garbed, accomplished viceMay bide the Final Day;With brutal, prompt, unstudied crimeThe law brooks no delay."His was no deed of villain artWhich slowly works its will,Which wiles its victim to his death,And slays with callous skill."It may be that a Higher JudgeCould measure best his crime;And that, through penitence he foundPardon and peace in time."The sun had sunk beneath the wave,The moon had risen on high;And glorified, with silvery beams,The earth, and sea, and sky.Light zephyrs thrilled on ocean's chords,Through wavelet's hum and flow;Alas! that scene surpassing fair,Should sin or sorrow know.Alas! that guilt, or causeless woeShould darken nature's smile;As that foul deed, the first to blightWith crime Prince Edward Isle.

Wherefrowning bulwarks guard the coastAround our sea-girt Isle,Where wildest winters wreak their wrath,And sweetest summers smile.

In holy calm of eventideWhich crowned the sunbright day,We sat upon a grassy knollThat overlooked the bay.

All glorious the lingering lightFrom out the radiant west,As loath to leave a scene so fair,Illumined ocean's crest.

Along the path, with quiet tread,There came an aged formWhose sunburnt features told that heHad weathered many a storm.

He'd held command in goodly craftOn nigh and far off seas;Had furled the sail on foreign strand,And scoured 'fore every breeze.

Now, 'yond all lure of worldly wealthThrough commerce on the foam,He anchored where affection set,Within his childhood's home.

Nor tide, nor wind, nor black storm-cloudCould bar his passage more,As he waited sailing ordersFor glad Beulah's shore.

We asked him, as he rested near,If he the story knewOf that bleak, lonely cape which stretchedUpon our right hand view.

"I can relate," he said, "the taleMy grandsire told to me:—It happened in the year of graceSeventeen sixty-three.

"That year the Isle of St. JeanWas ceded, this you know,To Britain, in the treaty signedBy France, at Fontainebleau.

"French privateers, which robbed our coast,Were harassed by our men;McKenzie, with a British sloopUnaided, captured ten.

"One, fleeter than the rest escaped,Commanded by Le Force;In dread of foes, or unknown seas,He held a leeward course.

"But all too fast the gallant shipBore down towards the bay;Caught on deceitful shifting sands,A stranded wreck she lay.

"The boats made shore, the crew dispersed,One officer remainedWith his commander, and large shareOf ill-won booty gained.

"On yonder cape they pitched a tent,And from the vessel's storeIn haste, with slightest interval,Much precious freight they bore.

"But where 'twas hid no mortal knew;Folk say within yon grove,Whose crowding giants dull the day,Exists the treasure-trove.

"Be't so or not, to me it seemsThis cursed greed of goldShuts all the finer feelings out,Deforms life's fairest mould.

"Rends rare affection's dearest ties,Transforms the friend to foe;In battlefield of worldly gainSmites with unsparing blow.

"Repels all humanizing love;In haste to reach its goal,Draws even from gates of paradiseThe earnest, God-ward soul.

"Two daring youths, from hamlet nigh,Through motives curious, wentWhen friendly even lent its shades,Anear the strangers' tent.

"They heard dispute o'er money hoard,Then louder, wrathful tones,Which hotter, higher, waxed untilThey sunk in low, faint moans.

"Next morn three sturdy fishermenSteered out across the wave;They heeded not the swelling surge,Their hearts were firm and brave.

"But, Oh! what vision met their gaze!Upon that silent shoreThe Captain of the stranded barkLay stiffening in his gore.

"Far from his loved inLa Belle France,Far from his native plain;Where longing eyes, and yearning heartsMight long for him in vain.

"He died not as the soldier dies;For country and for king;For him no martial banners wave,No lyre his praise doth sing.

"Rough hands, but souls of sympathy,Entombed him where he fell;While sounding ocean wailed his dirge,And wavelets rang his knell.

"Now, until ocean yields her dead,Till dries yon river's source,That cape, baptizèd with his blood,Shall bear the name 'Le Force.'"

He paused. "What of the murderer?And what to him befell?""He fled, from that dread hour of guiltNo tongue his fate could tell.

"No legal technicalityCould painthisblack as white,Or color with a golden tingeThe blackness of his night.

"Though richly-garbed, accomplished viceMay bide the Final Day;With brutal, prompt, unstudied crimeThe law brooks no delay.

"His was no deed of villain artWhich slowly works its will,Which wiles its victim to his death,And slays with callous skill.

"It may be that a Higher JudgeCould measure best his crime;And that, through penitence he foundPardon and peace in time."

The sun had sunk beneath the wave,The moon had risen on high;And glorified, with silvery beams,The earth, and sea, and sky.

Light zephyrs thrilled on ocean's chords,Through wavelet's hum and flow;Alas! that scene surpassing fair,Should sin or sorrow know.

Alas! that guilt, or causeless woeShould darken nature's smile;As that foul deed, the first to blightWith crime Prince Edward Isle.

Brightbeauty of northern winter!The sun, with its tenderest glow,Gilded the haze of the housetops,Warm-tinted earth's mantle of snow.Flashed forth the crystalline branches,Bedazzling of jewelry rare;Rich set in radiance of splendor,Choice pearlets of nature's own wear.Dark night with its gloom had faded,Fair morning its halo unfurled;Yet stirred not the solemn silenceWith the hum of a waking world.Unheard was the sound of labor,Mute—hushed was the voice of the street;Only the tread of passers by,Who stayed not their hastening feet.Only half whispers, curt repliesTo eager questions, doubtful given;For hearts were awed with sudden fear,For dearest ties of earth were riven.Soft cloudlets afloat on the blue,Pure wreaths of the shimmering snow,Re-uttered in language sublime,The breathings of unwonted woe.Alas, for the dreaming of life!Though heard not the roll of the drum,Nor witnessed the ensign of war,A merciless tyrant had come.Strife is no strife ill-dividedWhen man fighteth frail brother-man;But war is a warfare unequalWhen giant force leadeth one van.What marvel that mortals shrank back,That science e'en held bated breath;—Over the lights of our dwellingsThere hovered the angel of death.The flags which drooped from the windows,And waved in the winterly sun,Signalled fierce battle was raging,But told not of victory won.They were no flags of our nation,No tri-colored red, white and blue;Heralds of hope, or of freedom,Beamed not in their pale, saffron hue.II.Inside the new oped lazar-house,Where sick and dying, plague-struck, lay,Skill sought to baffle foul disease,Yet still the dismal blight made way.Sore lack of helpful, nursing handsWas keenly felt within those walls;Since selfish dread had closed the soulTo lucre's bribe, or mercy's calls.Had closed the soul of all save thoseWhose life is but to do His will;Who fear not Afric's burning sands,Nor Javan swamp, nor Iceland chill.Three Sisters, vowed to charity,Out of the well trained city band;Skilled nurses[Note]they, and fit prepared,Came forward as with life in hand.When, shame to tell, their proffered aidWas scouted; reason urgeth why?Search not dim aisles of bigotry,Sift thou thy soul for just reply.Oh, narrow bounded prejudice!Hedged round of a Christian name,Thou low, dim burning altar light!Unlit of celestial flame.Right royal blood in honor's cause,Red stains the patriot battle field;Thou slay'st thy myriads for naught,God in the conscience may not yield.Thou! blind and selfish prejudice;Vile, murky source of endless strife;Know that a world reviving faithDoth blossom into fruitful life.III.Still raged the dreaded pestilence,And still the quiet stars of nightBeamed down upon the obsequiesOf those who perished in the fight.'Mid comfort of our peaceful homes,We heard the rattle of the carWhich bore the vanquished from the sceneOf bloodless, but relentless war.For them no sacred bell was tolled,Nor rose the chant of plaintive psalm;Yet through deep mists shone guiding lightFrom cruel cross, to blissful palm.Within the City Hospital,With satchel in her willing hand,She waited, as a soldier waits,Intent to hear his lord's command.She knew that fickle human aidWhen sought at risks is sought in vain;That in no human breast existsWill to encounter death or pain."And can'st thou think to go?" I said,"When all thy purposes of goodWere balked by callous ignorance,Close-linked with base ingratitude."She looked me calmly in the face;A shade, which noted sad surpriseStole o'er her placid countenance,And spake from out her gentle eyes.Her answer echoes down the years,Illumes the hall in which she sat,Breaks through all cant of class or creed:—"Those sick must not suffer for that.."IV.Just then a messenger was hailed;To God and to their mission true,Firm-souled, went out to meet the plagueShe and devoted sisters two.Emblazoned in archives of lightThose titles no worldling may hold;Whilst their star, in our nether sky,Shines forth in a circlet of gold.With practised eye, and tender hand,With quiet mien, and noiseless tread,They grappled with the dire disease,Or soothed the sufferer's dying bed.They listed, with a patient mind,The longings of the exiled one;Or treasured, for a mother's ear,The last faint accents of her son.Yea! all along that tardy night,Black with the bitterness of woe,They toiled in unison with thoseWhose skill[Note]and courage foiled the foe.Fame proudly vaunts her hero dead;Ambition's tools, in glory's van;Thrice worthy he of lasting wreath,Who lives for God, and dies for man.Ah me! for the silent martyrWhose tireless feet so surely trodThe pathway leading on and upTowards the city of our God.The poison draught entered her blood;In brightness of Spring's early daySister St. Thomas bowed her head,And passed from her labors for aye.I know that 'yond the swelling surge,She reached that tideless, tranquil shore,Where faith finds anchor nigh its source,And storms of time are heard no more.I know that robed in spotless white,Her pure soul on Mount Zion stands;And yet I see her as she satWith satchel in her willing hands.Ho, peerless crown! Ho, fadeless palm!Bright land where ransomed spirits be!True love to God with love to man,Ensures a blessed eternity.

Brightbeauty of northern winter!The sun, with its tenderest glow,Gilded the haze of the housetops,Warm-tinted earth's mantle of snow.

Flashed forth the crystalline branches,Bedazzling of jewelry rare;Rich set in radiance of splendor,Choice pearlets of nature's own wear.

Dark night with its gloom had faded,Fair morning its halo unfurled;Yet stirred not the solemn silenceWith the hum of a waking world.

Unheard was the sound of labor,Mute—hushed was the voice of the street;Only the tread of passers by,Who stayed not their hastening feet.

Only half whispers, curt repliesTo eager questions, doubtful given;For hearts were awed with sudden fear,For dearest ties of earth were riven.

Soft cloudlets afloat on the blue,Pure wreaths of the shimmering snow,Re-uttered in language sublime,The breathings of unwonted woe.

Alas, for the dreaming of life!Though heard not the roll of the drum,Nor witnessed the ensign of war,A merciless tyrant had come.Strife is no strife ill-dividedWhen man fighteth frail brother-man;But war is a warfare unequalWhen giant force leadeth one van.

What marvel that mortals shrank back,That science e'en held bated breath;—Over the lights of our dwellingsThere hovered the angel of death.

The flags which drooped from the windows,And waved in the winterly sun,Signalled fierce battle was raging,But told not of victory won.

They were no flags of our nation,No tri-colored red, white and blue;Heralds of hope, or of freedom,Beamed not in their pale, saffron hue.II.Inside the new oped lazar-house,Where sick and dying, plague-struck, lay,Skill sought to baffle foul disease,Yet still the dismal blight made way.

II.

Sore lack of helpful, nursing handsWas keenly felt within those walls;Since selfish dread had closed the soulTo lucre's bribe, or mercy's calls.

Had closed the soul of all save thoseWhose life is but to do His will;Who fear not Afric's burning sands,Nor Javan swamp, nor Iceland chill.

Three Sisters, vowed to charity,Out of the well trained city band;Skilled nurses[Note]they, and fit prepared,Came forward as with life in hand.

When, shame to tell, their proffered aidWas scouted; reason urgeth why?Search not dim aisles of bigotry,Sift thou thy soul for just reply.

Oh, narrow bounded prejudice!Hedged round of a Christian name,Thou low, dim burning altar light!Unlit of celestial flame.

Right royal blood in honor's cause,Red stains the patriot battle field;Thou slay'st thy myriads for naught,God in the conscience may not yield.

Thou! blind and selfish prejudice;Vile, murky source of endless strife;Know that a world reviving faithDoth blossom into fruitful life.III.Still raged the dreaded pestilence,And still the quiet stars of nightBeamed down upon the obsequiesOf those who perished in the fight.

III.

'Mid comfort of our peaceful homes,We heard the rattle of the carWhich bore the vanquished from the sceneOf bloodless, but relentless war.

For them no sacred bell was tolled,Nor rose the chant of plaintive psalm;Yet through deep mists shone guiding lightFrom cruel cross, to blissful palm.

Within the City Hospital,With satchel in her willing hand,She waited, as a soldier waits,Intent to hear his lord's command.

She knew that fickle human aidWhen sought at risks is sought in vain;That in no human breast existsWill to encounter death or pain.

"And can'st thou think to go?" I said,"When all thy purposes of goodWere balked by callous ignorance,Close-linked with base ingratitude."

She looked me calmly in the face;A shade, which noted sad surpriseStole o'er her placid countenance,And spake from out her gentle eyes.

Her answer echoes down the years,Illumes the hall in which she sat,Breaks through all cant of class or creed:—"Those sick must not suffer for that.."IV.Just then a messenger was hailed;To God and to their mission true,Firm-souled, went out to meet the plagueShe and devoted sisters two.

IV.

Emblazoned in archives of lightThose titles no worldling may hold;Whilst their star, in our nether sky,Shines forth in a circlet of gold.

With practised eye, and tender hand,With quiet mien, and noiseless tread,They grappled with the dire disease,Or soothed the sufferer's dying bed.

They listed, with a patient mind,The longings of the exiled one;Or treasured, for a mother's ear,The last faint accents of her son.

Yea! all along that tardy night,Black with the bitterness of woe,They toiled in unison with thoseWhose skill[Note]and courage foiled the foe.

Fame proudly vaunts her hero dead;Ambition's tools, in glory's van;Thrice worthy he of lasting wreath,Who lives for God, and dies for man.

Ah me! for the silent martyrWhose tireless feet so surely trodThe pathway leading on and upTowards the city of our God.

The poison draught entered her blood;In brightness of Spring's early daySister St. Thomas bowed her head,And passed from her labors for aye.

I know that 'yond the swelling surge,She reached that tideless, tranquil shore,Where faith finds anchor nigh its source,And storms of time are heard no more.

I know that robed in spotless white,Her pure soul on Mount Zion stands;And yet I see her as she satWith satchel in her willing hands.

Ho, peerless crown! Ho, fadeless palm!Bright land where ransomed spirits be!True love to God with love to man,Ensures a blessed eternity.

Yesweet summer birds! in your flightAfar o'er the southern sea,Will ye stoop from your aerified heightTo whisper my lover of me?Again will ye hoist your bright wingWhen ice-fields unloose from our shore;New tunes through the woodlands shall ring;—Those tones! shall I hear never more?Remind him that low in the skySails the god of the long summer day;That later the glory-glints hieFrom their couch, with its curtains of gray.Yet—tell him through nature's vast range,Reaped harvests, ripe forests aflame;—Oh! tell him, through oceans of change,I'll love him forever, the same.

Yesweet summer birds! in your flightAfar o'er the southern sea,Will ye stoop from your aerified heightTo whisper my lover of me?

Again will ye hoist your bright wingWhen ice-fields unloose from our shore;New tunes through the woodlands shall ring;—Those tones! shall I hear never more?Remind him that low in the skySails the god of the long summer day;That later the glory-glints hieFrom their couch, with its curtains of gray.

Yet—tell him through nature's vast range,Reaped harvests, ripe forests aflame;—Oh! tell him, through oceans of change,I'll love him forever, the same.

"Where'smother?" and with eager hasteHe bore Love's offering;The first, bright flowers which oped their eyes;Sweet heralds of the Spring.Those tiny stars which dot with lightThe young year's tender green;As silvery tapers gem the dooleOf evening's sable screen.Ho! worlding of the callous mind!Deem this a trifling thing?O'er little deeds of loyal loveGreat mother-love doth sing.More precious from those chubby hands,Those sweet, wild flowers of Spring,Than priceless jewels from the storeOf coroneted king.

"Where'smother?" and with eager hasteHe bore Love's offering;The first, bright flowers which oped their eyes;Sweet heralds of the Spring.

Those tiny stars which dot with lightThe young year's tender green;As silvery tapers gem the dooleOf evening's sable screen.

Ho! worlding of the callous mind!Deem this a trifling thing?O'er little deeds of loyal loveGreat mother-love doth sing.

More precious from those chubby hands,Those sweet, wild flowers of Spring,Than priceless jewels from the storeOf coroneted king.

[Decoration.]

"Unbridled appetite was followed by deadly fever, and beforeSpring 1200 of Peperell's men filled graves in the conquered soil."

Bravemaiden-love! bright sister-faith!Of this Columbian land,Why should fair youth, as tidal wreck,Drift up on either strand?Ye mothers! when your sons set sailOn life's tempestuous seas,Why pray ye Heaven's propitious calmTo quell each rising breeze?If haste for fame, or wealth of lore,Or thirst for worldly pelfBe set above that priceless boon,The power to conquer self.To guard that no insidious foeThe citadel shall win;To note, as quick-eared sentinel,The first approach of sin.The surges tossed in seething foamUpon that rock-bound shore;Yet the brave men of New EnglandDown to the leeward bore.The Frenchman's warning gun booms forth,The heavy seas resound;What reck they! with determined mienThey tread the solid ground.Mere raw recruits and all untrainedIn stratagem of war,Not Gallia's veterans, skilled in arms,Their landing place might bar.Through hardships dire and manifoldThey upward, onward press;On, till the blossomings of hopeAre fruited with success.And all through proud New England,And far across the wave,The name of MassachusettsAnd of her soldier braveIs linked with joy and feasting;While Britain's fair renownGleams fairer for the added gem,Which decks her ancient crown.More bright the clear, translucent sky,More dense the shadows fall;More glorious the spirits glow,More black the dismal pall;Oft, through celestial sunlight,Breaks forth dull thunder shower;Oft, over brilliant visioningsDark disappointments lower.So, in first flush of triumph,Crept in an artful foe,Whose craft and daring overcameWithout one open blow.More certain than the Gascon shotIn siege, on field of war;And deadlier than the scalping knifeOf subtle Indian, far.And those brave, who never falteredBefore a human form,Who never shrank from danger's path,Or cowered beneath a storm,Fall down before that reaper's handAs falls the sun scorched grain;And Glory's wreath, and Victory's songAlike are void and vain.

If haste for fame, or wealth of lore,Or thirst for worldly pelfBe set above that priceless boon,The power to conquer self.To guard that no insidious foeThe citadel shall win;To note, as quick-eared sentinel,The first approach of sin.

The surges tossed in seething foamUpon that rock-bound shore;Yet the brave men of New EnglandDown to the leeward bore.The Frenchman's warning gun booms forth,The heavy seas resound;What reck they! with determined mienThey tread the solid ground.

Mere raw recruits and all untrainedIn stratagem of war,Not Gallia's veterans, skilled in arms,Their landing place might bar.Through hardships dire and manifoldThey upward, onward press;On, till the blossomings of hopeAre fruited with success.

And all through proud New England,And far across the wave,The name of MassachusettsAnd of her soldier braveIs linked with joy and feasting;While Britain's fair renownGleams fairer for the added gem,Which decks her ancient crown.

More bright the clear, translucent sky,More dense the shadows fall;More glorious the spirits glow,More black the dismal pall;Oft, through celestial sunlight,Breaks forth dull thunder shower;Oft, over brilliant visioningsDark disappointments lower.

So, in first flush of triumph,Crept in an artful foe,Whose craft and daring overcameWithout one open blow.More certain than the Gascon shotIn siege, on field of war;And deadlier than the scalping knifeOf subtle Indian, far.

And those brave, who never falteredBefore a human form,Who never shrank from danger's path,Or cowered beneath a storm,Fall down before that reaper's handAs falls the sun scorched grain;And Glory's wreath, and Victory's songAlike are void and vain.

Theygathered round with feeling heart,From hamlet far and near;They strove in vain, with kindly words,Her stricken soul to cheer.For over the night of anguishDawned never break of day;That sun which sank in frowning skiesLeft ne'er a softening ray.Oh broken heart! Oh empty life!Oh sad, low monotone!"The woods and the sea have ruined me;Alone! yea all alone!"She'd left her peaceful, native shoresAnd dared the stormy waveWith him whose troth was love and truth;The young, the strong and brave.They raised a cabin on the wild,In shade of branching tree;And there the mother reared the child,And time passed merrily.Toil reaped the gain of comfort sweet;And by the fireside blaze,Glad souls went up in grateful song,In voice of joy and praise.Sweet lyrics of the heather landThe evening hours beguiled;While age re-lived its youth once more,And happy childhood smiled.Dark shadows mar the brightest heaven,And, sharp as warning bell,Sore tidings of their sailor's deathUpon that homestead fell.Then, when the winter spread earth's shroudOf pure white, glistening snow,Upon those mourners fell apaceA still more bitter blow.All night, amid the biting frost,With darkest gloom o'er head,Upon the fir-tree's broken boughsThree wanderers made their bed.But, ere the dawn had streaked the skyWith glorious hues of day,The brightest life e'er blessed a homeWas stilled in death for aye.The seasons cycled; peaceful yearsAgain verged into woe;By fatal stroke of falling treeThe silvered head lay low.She stood beside the aged form;Her brain seemed all on fire;—The billows rolled, the forest wavedO'er fated sons and sire.Oh narrow bounds of earthly ill!Oh sad and suffering throng!Oh ye! who drink the bitter cup;It cannot be for long.The woe-worn frame now resteth well;The soul hath found its own;Where shades of earth no more may blight,In lustre of the Throne.No more she sings, in lonely griefHer weary monotone:"The woods and the sea have ruined me;Alone! yea, all alone!"

Oh broken heart! Oh empty life!Oh sad, low monotone!"The woods and the sea have ruined me;Alone! yea all alone!"

She'd left her peaceful, native shoresAnd dared the stormy waveWith him whose troth was love and truth;The young, the strong and brave.They raised a cabin on the wild,In shade of branching tree;And there the mother reared the child,And time passed merrily.

Toil reaped the gain of comfort sweet;And by the fireside blaze,Glad souls went up in grateful song,In voice of joy and praise.Sweet lyrics of the heather landThe evening hours beguiled;While age re-lived its youth once more,And happy childhood smiled.

Dark shadows mar the brightest heaven,And, sharp as warning bell,Sore tidings of their sailor's deathUpon that homestead fell.Then, when the winter spread earth's shroudOf pure white, glistening snow,Upon those mourners fell apaceA still more bitter blow.

All night, amid the biting frost,With darkest gloom o'er head,Upon the fir-tree's broken boughsThree wanderers made their bed.But, ere the dawn had streaked the skyWith glorious hues of day,The brightest life e'er blessed a homeWas stilled in death for aye.

The seasons cycled; peaceful yearsAgain verged into woe;By fatal stroke of falling treeThe silvered head lay low.She stood beside the aged form;Her brain seemed all on fire;—The billows rolled, the forest wavedO'er fated sons and sire.

Oh narrow bounds of earthly ill!Oh sad and suffering throng!Oh ye! who drink the bitter cup;It cannot be for long.The woe-worn frame now resteth well;The soul hath found its own;Where shades of earth no more may blight,In lustre of the Throne.

No more she sings, in lonely griefHer weary monotone:"The woods and the sea have ruined me;Alone! yea, all alone!"

Thelight of love o'er her features played,The silver streaks through her bright hair strayed.Her noble mien and her gentle handProclaimed her daughter of no mean land.Voice and action attested her birth,Better than mere gilt baubles of earth.Winter had folded its shroud and fled;The daisies peeped from their grassy bed.The dark mounds rose from their circling green;Young plants smiled back to the bright'ning sheen.No wealth of splendor, yet choice as goldThose gifts from hands of the loved of old.Hands which will clasp my hand nevermoreTill feet stand firm on the tideless shore.Careless young Playful had oped the gate;Hastening footsteps, that could not wait,Had sped where playtime and boyhood meet;The gate, forgot, swung ope from the street,From the highway where the cattle roam,And Arabs find their kindliest home.The gate might swing till the twilight hours;Meantime, alack for the tender flowers!II.Came she, 'mid the many passers by;Quick of the wit and clear of the eye.She, of the high-bred, Christian school,Soul-lit and sunned of the golden rule.Questioned she whether! halted she long!Qualms of propriety right no wrong.Yield form and fashion their fitting place;Yet, cramp not the soul in meaner space.Hence to marauders, and riskings of fate,She quietly closed—then latched the gate.Trumpet bequests of the miser-mind,Who spreads abroad when he cannot bind.Boast ye those deeds which blazon the name,Lofty as adamant heights of Fame.Dawning of glory! the world's great heartThrobs not its truest response to art.Nor skill, nor fame, nor glamour of gold;Only Love's chain doth the world enfold.And those who will soar on angel wings,Are the generous even in smaller things.Generous when shadows darken fate,To close 'gainst evil a neighbor's gate.

Thelight of love o'er her features played,The silver streaks through her bright hair strayed.

Her noble mien and her gentle handProclaimed her daughter of no mean land.

Voice and action attested her birth,Better than mere gilt baubles of earth.

Winter had folded its shroud and fled;The daisies peeped from their grassy bed.

The dark mounds rose from their circling green;Young plants smiled back to the bright'ning sheen.

No wealth of splendor, yet choice as goldThose gifts from hands of the loved of old.

Hands which will clasp my hand nevermoreTill feet stand firm on the tideless shore.

Careless young Playful had oped the gate;Hastening footsteps, that could not wait,

Had sped where playtime and boyhood meet;The gate, forgot, swung ope from the street,

From the highway where the cattle roam,And Arabs find their kindliest home.

The gate might swing till the twilight hours;Meantime, alack for the tender flowers!II.Came she, 'mid the many passers by;Quick of the wit and clear of the eye.

II.

She, of the high-bred, Christian school,Soul-lit and sunned of the golden rule.

Questioned she whether! halted she long!Qualms of propriety right no wrong.

Yield form and fashion their fitting place;Yet, cramp not the soul in meaner space.

Hence to marauders, and riskings of fate,She quietly closed—then latched the gate.

Trumpet bequests of the miser-mind,Who spreads abroad when he cannot bind.

Boast ye those deeds which blazon the name,Lofty as adamant heights of Fame.

Dawning of glory! the world's great heartThrobs not its truest response to art.

Nor skill, nor fame, nor glamour of gold;Only Love's chain doth the world enfold.

And those who will soar on angel wings,Are the generous even in smaller things.

Generous when shadows darken fate,To close 'gainst evil a neighbor's gate.

[Decoration]

Thelow, sweet voice of a summer's seaFloats far along the pebbly strand;Whilst melodies, from greening grove,Resound o'er all the pleasant land.The streamlet, freed from icy band,Sings gaily on its seaward way;All nature, in responsive mood,Doth chime in Springtide roundelay.What notes discordant dare to marThose tender cadenzas of song?Can those shrill tones be tones of wrathOn softest zephyrs borne along?Yea! over Ocean's peaceful humA woman's wrathful voice soars high;And through the green-arched forest aislesRings out young childhood's plaintive cry.Who cometh, arrayed in priestly guise,Full-charged with embassy divine,Of noble mien, of princely port,Of lofty brow and look benign?The mother stays the uplifted hand;—The culprit turned, and quickly ranAnd refuge sought, and shelter foundBeneath cloak of the holy man.Calm, clear and firm the warning fell"Forgive! if thou wouldst be forgiven;Whose heart doth harbor angry thoughtsCan ne'er as penitent be shriven.Forgive thy son! this once forgive!His surety I shall gladly be;Or, if justice claimeth punishment,Then—visit his crimes on me."The years rolled on; the priestly garbBedecks a princely prelate now;The saintly voice a blessing speaksFrom underneath a mitred brow.In his rounds of zeal the Bishop seeksOnce more fair Lennox' sea-girt isle;When lo! from out the gathering shades,The brilliant lights of welcome smile.In centre of a glittering throngThe reverend Father stately stands;And, in the name of the Triune God,He upraiseth his sacred hands.Whilst, leader in that vast array,Whose torches brighten wave and shore,Is he whose faults were answered for;The saved of many years before.So we, in our rebel sin-nature,Pine under the chastening rod;And fly with our burden of evilFrom wrath of a just-dealing God,To hide in Christ's sheltering raimentOf righteousness, inwove with peace;To find, in a sinless substitute,The sin-fettered soul's release.So we, when our Great High Priest shall come,Begirt of power, enrobed of state,And the peoples of ten thousand islesWith eager joy His advent wait,Shall hail, with a heartsong of rapture,His step on our sin-furrowed strand;Shall march, with the grand triumphal throng,In the glow of a God-lit land.

What notes discordant dare to marThose tender cadenzas of song?Can those shrill tones be tones of wrathOn softest zephyrs borne along?Yea! over Ocean's peaceful humA woman's wrathful voice soars high;And through the green-arched forest aislesRings out young childhood's plaintive cry.

Who cometh, arrayed in priestly guise,Full-charged with embassy divine,Of noble mien, of princely port,Of lofty brow and look benign?The mother stays the uplifted hand;—The culprit turned, and quickly ranAnd refuge sought, and shelter foundBeneath cloak of the holy man.

Calm, clear and firm the warning fell"Forgive! if thou wouldst be forgiven;Whose heart doth harbor angry thoughtsCan ne'er as penitent be shriven.Forgive thy son! this once forgive!His surety I shall gladly be;Or, if justice claimeth punishment,Then—visit his crimes on me."The years rolled on; the priestly garbBedecks a princely prelate now;The saintly voice a blessing speaksFrom underneath a mitred brow.In his rounds of zeal the Bishop seeksOnce more fair Lennox' sea-girt isle;When lo! from out the gathering shades,The brilliant lights of welcome smile.

In centre of a glittering throngThe reverend Father stately stands;And, in the name of the Triune God,He upraiseth his sacred hands.Whilst, leader in that vast array,Whose torches brighten wave and shore,Is he whose faults were answered for;The saved of many years before.

So we, in our rebel sin-nature,Pine under the chastening rod;And fly with our burden of evilFrom wrath of a just-dealing God,To hide in Christ's sheltering raimentOf righteousness, inwove with peace;To find, in a sinless substitute,The sin-fettered soul's release.

So we, when our Great High Priest shall come,Begirt of power, enrobed of state,And the peoples of ten thousand islesWith eager joy His advent wait,Shall hail, with a heartsong of rapture,His step on our sin-furrowed strand;Shall march, with the grand triumphal throng,In the glow of a God-lit land.

HailChristmas! beacon ever bright;Athwart the way-worn years;Full lustred of celestial light,Thy white-robed dawn appears.Blest season! when our much belovedAround one altar meet;When voices from the spirit-landOur longing spirits greet.In tender memories arise,Sunlit, the days of old,When radiant vistas oped the skiesAnd streaked earth's grey with gold.Beneath a lofty castle domeThree fair young dreamers smile;And, fraught of love, the light of home,The flitting hours beguile.They wander by the river side,They rest in woodland bowers;Pure joy flows like the rippling tideThrough all the sunny hours.They climb the purple mountain crest,They list the vesper call;—Ah me! gay life, then quiet rest;Earth's shadows! darksome pall!Yet, lo! seraphic vision breaks;—That beauteous band I see,Where glory-dawn in gladness wakes;Where all the ransomed be.High-seated in Immanuel's land,'Yond shadow of the tomb;Safe-nurtured 'neath a Father's handImmortal youth doth bloom.Oh! happy, happy hearted!Who tread the golden floor;Oh! sinless, early parted!Who live, to die no more.Bright land, where none may sever!Where life is life for aye;Where, through the long forever,No night shall veil the day.Within the grand, orchestral throngThey harp, with crownèd brow;While sadness mingles with our song,We at His footstool bow.Hail Christmas! light to weary eyes!Light thou the years along;Till, all as one in Paradise,We sing our Christmas song.

In tender memories arise,Sunlit, the days of old,When radiant vistas oped the skiesAnd streaked earth's grey with gold.Beneath a lofty castle domeThree fair young dreamers smile;And, fraught of love, the light of home,The flitting hours beguile.

They wander by the river side,They rest in woodland bowers;Pure joy flows like the rippling tideThrough all the sunny hours.They climb the purple mountain crest,They list the vesper call;—Ah me! gay life, then quiet rest;Earth's shadows! darksome pall!

Yet, lo! seraphic vision breaks;—That beauteous band I see,Where glory-dawn in gladness wakes;Where all the ransomed be.High-seated in Immanuel's land,'Yond shadow of the tomb;Safe-nurtured 'neath a Father's handImmortal youth doth bloom.

Oh! happy, happy hearted!Who tread the golden floor;Oh! sinless, early parted!Who live, to die no more.Bright land, where none may sever!Where life is life for aye;Where, through the long forever,No night shall veil the day.

Within the grand, orchestral throngThey harp, with crownèd brow;While sadness mingles with our song,We at His footstool bow.Hail Christmas! light to weary eyes!Light thou the years along;Till, all as one in Paradise,We sing our Christmas song.

Oh!ye who suffer ills untoldUpon the ground you tread!Whose children pine from want and cold,And cry in vain for bread,Fold not your hands o'er cruel fate,Nor weep with blinded eyes;Look onward! peace and plenty waitAneath our western skies.I left my home in Erin's Isle,By Shannon's glittering wave,I bade farewell a mother's smile,A youthful husband's grave.Together with my orphan bandI crossed the raging sea,And sought and found in this bright landA home for them and me.Where riches may not rob the feastWon by the hand of toil;Nor oust the man to feed the beastUpon God's fertile soil.Where sterling worth may upright stand,Where industry is blessed;—Yes! though I love my native land,I love this land the best.Here Scotia finds her sweet blue bell,Here Erin's shamrock blows;Whilst incense floats o'er hill and dellFrom England's fragrant rose.Each country finds its own againTenfold, in this great world,Where Freedom's hand, from mount to main,Her banner hath unfurled.Fair Canada! all lands aboveIn power to conquer wrong;Thou yieldest love in turn for love,Thy strength shall aye be strong.Oh beauteous, peerless, wide domains!Oh ever teeming store!Though exiled myriads seek thy plains,There's room for myriads more.Now, where the Rocky summits rise,At tender eve's decline,I watch the sun of cloudless skiesO'er many an acre shine.My heart's best treasures by my side,The years may ebb and flow;Till I shall greet, 'yond storm and tide,The loved of long ago.

I left my home in Erin's Isle,By Shannon's glittering wave,I bade farewell a mother's smile,A youthful husband's grave.Together with my orphan bandI crossed the raging sea,And sought and found in this bright landA home for them and me.

Where riches may not rob the feastWon by the hand of toil;Nor oust the man to feed the beastUpon God's fertile soil.Where sterling worth may upright stand,Where industry is blessed;—Yes! though I love my native land,I love this land the best.

Here Scotia finds her sweet blue bell,Here Erin's shamrock blows;Whilst incense floats o'er hill and dellFrom England's fragrant rose.Each country finds its own againTenfold, in this great world,Where Freedom's hand, from mount to main,Her banner hath unfurled.

Fair Canada! all lands aboveIn power to conquer wrong;Thou yieldest love in turn for love,Thy strength shall aye be strong.Oh beauteous, peerless, wide domains!Oh ever teeming store!Though exiled myriads seek thy plains,There's room for myriads more.

Now, where the Rocky summits rise,At tender eve's decline,I watch the sun of cloudless skiesO'er many an acre shine.My heart's best treasures by my side,The years may ebb and flow;Till I shall greet, 'yond storm and tide,The loved of long ago.

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