O Child of Nations, giant-limbed,
Who stand’st among the nations now
Unheeded, unadored, unhymned,
With unanointed brow,—
How long the ignoble sloth, how long
The trust in greatness not thine own?
Surely the lion’s brood is strong
To front the world alone!
How long the indolence, ere thou dare
Achieve thy destiny, seize thy fame—
Ere our proud eyes behold thee bear
A 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 higher
The place of race and age.
I see to every wind unfurled
The flag that bears the Maple-Wreath;
Thy swift keels furrow round the world
Its blood-red folds beneath;
Thy swift keels cleave the furthest seas;
Thy white sails swell with alien gales;
To stream on each remotest breeze
The black smoke of thy pipes exhales.
O Falterer, let thy past convince
Thy future,—all the growth, the gain,
The fame since Cartier knew thee, since
Thy shores beheld Champlain!
Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm!
Quebec, thy storied citadel
Attest in burning song and psalm
How here thy heroes fell!
O Thou that bor’st the battle’s brunt
At Queenston and at Lundy’s Lane,—
On whose scant ranks but iron front
The 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,—beside
Strange floods that Northward rave and fall—
Where chafes Acadia’s chainless tide—
Thy sons await thy call.
They wait; but some in exile, some
With strangers housed, in stranger lands;—
And some Canadian lips are dumb
Beneath Egyptian sands.
O mystic Nile! Thy secret yields
Before us; thy most ancient dreams
Are mixed with far Canadian fields
And 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.
