In the Okanagan

I hear the sweet larks crying. The soft wind in the pines Is like a great sea sighing For what its heart divines. The hills stand up in splendor; The dark blue shadows lean Against them deep and tender; The far-blown air is clean.

From Skaha to Osoyoos The temperate days go by With simple life and joyous Under a stainless sky. The gray unbroken benches Are crowned with yellow sage, And ageless beauty quenches The fever of our age.

Here balsam poplars capture The scent of Paradise, And strange new flowers enrapture Our unaccustomed eyes. The trees with fruit are bending, The gardens gay with flowers, A sense of peace unending Is over all the hours.

Along the purple ranges The glow of sunset shines, And glory spreads and changes Among the red-boled pines. Here time takes on new leisure And life attains new worth. And wise are they who treasure This Eden of the North.