I

O Canada, Long red with cottage flame From Britain's torch! thy blasts milk not the cloud To nourish hope; instead, they spread the shroud On Human Spirit answering Freedom's claim. Whence comes the cold which icicles with shame, Thy heart's Niagara, that should thunder loud Unto thy far off soul in sorrow, bowed O'er Papineau, whom Thraldom could not tame?

Now following the Friends, who grandly led The slave through tunnels to the Northern Star, To find, in freedom, richer bloomage far, Than the Magnolia o'er the cattle shed,-- I reach thy soul,--where now the Crawfords are, And learn the cold is not from manhood dead.