Читать книгу Poems of James McIntyre - James McIntyre - Страница 9

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Small Scotland nobly held its own

Against the might of England's throne,

And shall this land with its vast bounds

Shrink with fear ere the trumpet sounds.

While British blood doth course each vein,

Proudly this heritage maintain,

With fertile acres by the billions,

Future homes for two hundred millions.

Each son could have a fertile farm,

Brave men who ne'er will feel alarm,

And they have both the nerve and skill

To work land with a right good will.

And she has got within her shores

Renowned mines of many ores,

While her furnaces and forges

Iron in useful shape disgorges.

Her mighty forests they do yield

Lumber, her cities for to build,

But her wealth is not in these alone,

She has great quarries too of stone.

Industry it here doth bloom,

And skilful webs come from each loom,

One of great nations under sun,

A mightier race it yet will run.

For with the Anglo-Saxon race

No other people can keep pace,

Here they have room for to expand

Into a nation mighty grand.

With great railroads and canals,

And care in legislative halls,

A mighty future she will gain,

And highest rank she will obtain.

Canada hopes it will be told,

That she hath patriots brave and bold,

To guide her helm shall be extolled,

As loving country more than gold.