ROBERTS
O Child of Nations, giant-limbed,Who stand’st among the nations nowUnheeded, unadored, unhymned,With unanointed brow,—How long the ignoble sloth, how longThe trust in greatness not thine own?Surely the lion’s brood is strongTo front the world alone!How long the indolence, ere thou dareAchieve thy destiny, seize thy fame—Ere our proud eyes behold thee bearA nation’s franchise, nation’s name?The Saxon force, the Celtic fire,These are thy Manhood’s heritage!Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek higherThe place of race and age.I see to every wind unfurledThe flag that bears the Maple-Wreath;Thy swift keels furrow round the worldIts blood-red folds beneath;Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas;Thy white sails swell with alien gales;To stream on each remotest breezeThe black smoke of thy pipes exhales.O Falterer, let thy past convinceThy future,—all the growth, the gain,The fame since Cartier knew thee, sinceThy shores beheld Champlain!Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm!Quebec, thy storied citadelAttest in burning song and psalmHow here thy heroes fell!O Thou that bor’st the battle’s bruntAt Queenston and at Lundy’s Lane,—On whose scant ranks but iron frontThe battle broke in vain!—Whose was the danger, whose the day,From whose triumphant throats the cheers,At Chrysler’s Farm, at Chateauquay,Storming like clarion-bursts our ears?On soft Pacific slopes,—besideStrange floods that Northward rave and fall—Where chafes Acadia’s chainless tide—Thy sons await thy call.They wait; but some in exile, someWith strangers housed, in stranger lands;—And some Canadian lips are dumbBeneath Egyptian sands.O mystic Nile! Thy secret yieldsBefore us; thy most ancient dreamsAre mixed with far Canadian fieldsAnd murmur of Canadian streams.But thou, my Country, dream not thou!Wake, and behold how night is done;How on thy breast, and o’er thy brow,Bursts the uprising Sun!Charles George Douglas Roberts.
O Child of Nations, giant-limbed,Who stand’st among the nations nowUnheeded, unadored, unhymned,With unanointed brow,—How long the ignoble sloth, how longThe trust in greatness not thine own?Surely the lion’s brood is strongTo front the world alone!How long the indolence, ere thou dareAchieve thy destiny, seize thy fame—Ere our proud eyes behold thee bearA nation’s franchise, nation’s name?The Saxon force, the Celtic fire,These are thy Manhood’s heritage!Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek higherThe place of race and age.I see to every wind unfurledThe flag that bears the Maple-Wreath;Thy swift keels furrow round the worldIts blood-red folds beneath;Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas;Thy white sails swell with alien gales;To stream on each remotest breezeThe black smoke of thy pipes exhales.O Falterer, let thy past convinceThy future,—all the growth, the gain,The fame since Cartier knew thee, sinceThy shores beheld Champlain!Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm!Quebec, thy storied citadelAttest in burning song and psalmHow here thy heroes fell!O Thou that bor’st the battle’s bruntAt Queenston and at Lundy’s Lane,—On whose scant ranks but iron frontThe battle broke in vain!—Whose was the danger, whose the day,From whose triumphant throats the cheers,At Chrysler’s Farm, at Chateauquay,Storming like clarion-bursts our ears?On soft Pacific slopes,—besideStrange floods that Northward rave and fall—Where chafes Acadia’s chainless tide—Thy sons await thy call.They wait; but some in exile, someWith strangers housed, in stranger lands;—And some Canadian lips are dumbBeneath Egyptian sands.O mystic Nile! Thy secret yieldsBefore us; thy most ancient dreamsAre mixed with far Canadian fieldsAnd murmur of Canadian streams.But thou, my Country, dream not thou!Wake, and behold how night is done;How on thy breast, and o’er thy brow,Bursts the uprising Sun!Charles George Douglas Roberts.
O Child of Nations, giant-limbed,Who stand’st among the nations nowUnheeded, unadored, unhymned,With unanointed brow,—
How long the ignoble sloth, how longThe trust in greatness not thine own?Surely the lion’s brood is strongTo front the world alone!
How long the indolence, ere thou dareAchieve thy destiny, seize thy fame—Ere our proud eyes behold thee bearA nation’s franchise, nation’s name?
The Saxon force, the Celtic fire,These are thy Manhood’s heritage!Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek higherThe place of race and age.
I see to every wind unfurledThe flag that bears the Maple-Wreath;Thy swift keels furrow round the worldIts blood-red folds beneath;
Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas;Thy white sails swell with alien gales;To stream on each remotest breezeThe black smoke of thy pipes exhales.
O Falterer, let thy past convinceThy future,—all the growth, the gain,The fame since Cartier knew thee, sinceThy shores beheld Champlain!
Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm!Quebec, thy storied citadelAttest in burning song and psalmHow here thy heroes fell!
O Thou that bor’st the battle’s bruntAt Queenston and at Lundy’s Lane,—On whose scant ranks but iron frontThe battle broke in vain!—
Whose was the danger, whose the day,From whose triumphant throats the cheers,At Chrysler’s Farm, at Chateauquay,Storming like clarion-bursts our ears?
On soft Pacific slopes,—besideStrange floods that Northward rave and fall—Where chafes Acadia’s chainless tide—Thy sons await thy call.
They wait; but some in exile, someWith strangers housed, in stranger lands;—And some Canadian lips are dumbBeneath Egyptian sands.
O mystic Nile! Thy secret yieldsBefore us; thy most ancient dreamsAre mixed with far Canadian fieldsAnd murmur of Canadian streams.
But thou, my Country, dream not thou!Wake, and behold how night is done;How on thy breast, and o’er thy brow,Bursts the uprising Sun!
Charles George Douglas Roberts.