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LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 \CAllFO*NIA 
 
Ii\ 
 
 

 V* 
 
SONGS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE SETTLEMENT 
 
 Bnfc Othcv poems 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS O'HAGAX 
 
 " Come read to me some poem, 
 Some simple and heartfelt lay, 
 That shall soothe this restless feeling 
 And banish the thoughts of day." 
 
 — Longfellow. 
 
 TORONTO 
 
 WILLIAM BRIGGS, WESLEY BUILDINGS 
 
 1899 
 
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one 
 thousand eight hundred and ninety-nine, by Thomas O'Hagan, at 
 the Department of Agriculture. 
 

 TO THE PIONEERS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 COUNTY OE BRUCE, ONTARIO, 
 
 WHOSE STOUT HEARTS AND STURDY ARMS 
 
 HAVE TURNED A WILDERNESS 
 
 INTO SMILING GARDENS, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 721 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Many of the lyrics in this little volume have their 
 root in the memory of pioneer days. They are 
 blossoms of the "Settlement," retaining, the Author 
 would fain hope, something of the twilight dew 
 which nurtured and enwrapped them. May their 
 fragrance help to sweeten the garden of life ! 
 
 T. O'HAGAN. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 An Idyl of the Farm 9 
 
 The Old Pioneer 12 
 
 A Dirge of the Settlement 15 
 
 The Old Log-Cottage School \J 
 
 The Freckled Boy at School 20 
 
 The Old Brindle Cow 23 
 
 The Dance at McDougalFs 25 
 
 A Lullaby of the Settlement 27 
 
 The Song My Mother Sings 28 
 
 The Dreamer 31 
 
 A Song of the Stars 32 
 
 An Invitation 33 
 
 Reconciled 35 
 
 Christmas Morn 3° 
 
 Our Own Dear Land 37 
 
 A Song of Canadian Rivers 38 
 
 My Native Land 4° 
 
 Heroes 43 
 
 Our Deathless Dead 47 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pagf 
 
 Tears of the Maple 5° 
 
 June is Coming S° 
 
 The Rainbow 5^ 
 
 Ripened Fruit 61 
 
 November 63 
 
 Two Workers 64 
 
 In Lowly Valley 65 
 
 An Irish Mother 66 
 
 Life and Death 67 
 
 Love's Trysting-place 68 
 
 To E 69 
 
 Woman 7° 
 
SONGS OF THE SETTLEMENT 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 AN IDYL OF THE FARM. 
 
 there's joy in every sphere of life from cottage unto 
 
 throne, 
 Bat the sweetest smiles of nature beam upon the farm 
 
 alone ; 
 And in memory I go back to the days of long ago, 
 When the teamster shouted " Haw, Buck ! " " Gee ! " 
 
 " GTang ! " and " Whoa ! " 
 
 1 see out in the logging-field the heroes of our land, 
 
 With their strong and sturdy faces, each with handspike in 
 
 his hand ; 
 With shoulders strong as Hercules, they feared no giant foe, 
 As the teamster shouted " Haw, Buck ! " " Gee !" " G'lang !" 
 
 and "Whoa!" 
 
10 AN IDYL OF THE FARM. 
 
 The logging-bees are over, and the woodlands all are 
 
 cleared, 
 The face that then was young and fair is silver'd o'er with 
 
 beard ; 
 The handspike now holds not the place it did long years 
 
 ago, 
 When the teamster shouted " Haw, Buck ! " " Gee ! " 
 
 " G'lang ! " and " Whoa ! " 
 
 On meadow land and orchard field there rests a glory 
 
 round, 
 Sweet as the memory of the dead that haunts some holy 
 
 ground ; 
 And yet there's wanting to my heart some joy of long ago, 
 When the teamster shouted " Haw, Buck ! " " Gee ! " 
 
 "G'lang!" and "Whoa!" 
 
 Demosthenes had silvery tongue, and Cicero knew Greek, 
 The Gracchi brothers loved old Rome and always helped 
 
 the weak ; 
 But there's not a Grecian hero, nor Roman high or low, 
 Whose heart spake braver patriot words than " Gee ! " 
 
 " G'lang ! " and " Whoa ! " 
 
AN IDYL OF THE FARM. 11 
 
 They wore no coat of armor, the boys in twilight days — 
 They sang no classic music, but the old " Come all ye " 
 
 lays ; 
 For armed with axe and handspike, each giant tree their 
 
 foe, 
 They rallied to the battle-cry of "Gee!" "G'lang!" and 
 
 "Whoa!" 
 
 And so they smote the forest down, and rolled the logs in 
 
 heaps, 
 And brought our country to the front in mighty strides and 
 
 leaps ; 
 And left upon the altar of each home wherein you go, 
 Some fragrance of the flowers that bloom through " Gee ! " 
 
 "G'lang!" and "Whoa!" 
 
L2 THE OLD PIONEER. 
 
 THE OLD PIONEER. 
 
 Have you ever met the old man 
 
 Coming down the lane ? 
 His form, tho' bent with toil and care, 
 
 Is free from every pain : 
 They sometimes call him " Guv'ner," 
 
 And sometimes call him u Dad" — 
 The boys and girls whose merry ways 
 
 Oft made the hearthstone glad. 
 
 He moved into the settlement 
 
 'Way back in fifty-three, 
 Before a man had come there, 
 
 Or cut a single tree — 
 The only neighbors that he had 
 
 Were wolves and prowling bears, 
 That in his stock of calves and lambs 
 
 Full willingly took shares. 
 
THE OLD PIONEER. 13 
 
 But the lonely hours soon pass'd away 
 
 While nature sang her hymn ; 
 The robin piped his cheery notes, 
 
 And hopped from limb to limb ; 
 The shanty smiled in broad, full day, 
 
 The clearance opened wide, 
 And the farm that once was but a field 
 
 Now stretched from side to side. 
 
 And so the " settlement " grew up 
 
 In loving toil and care, 
 Starr'd with bright deeds of kindness 
 
 As generous as the air ; 
 For hearts and hands were then but one, 
 
 As generous and as free 
 As the gift of morn's bright flood of light 
 
 Or shade of maple tree. 
 
 And here is where the strength lies 
 
 In this our happy land, 
 'Twas builded by the grace of toil, 
 
 By strong and patriot hand ; 
 
14 THE OLD PIONEER 
 
 And if a foe should e'er beset, 
 Or 'proach our altars near, 
 
 We'll charge with all the spirit 
 Of the old pioneer. 
 
 Then God bless the old man 
 
 Coming down the lane ! 
 His form, tho' bent with toil and care, 
 
 Is free from every pain ; 
 He looks across his acres 
 
 With their glory and their gain, 
 While his heart hath dreams of heaven 
 
 As he comes down the lane. 
 
A DIRGE OF THE SETTLEMENT. 15 
 
 A DIRGE OF THE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 The wind sweeps through the forest aisles, 
 
 In requiem notes of grief and woe, 
 For the great strong heart of the pioneer 
 Hushed in death, as an oak laid low : 
 Chanting a dirge at every door — 
 Dirge for the Oak the Storm-King tore : 
 " Here at rest is our pioneer 
 
 In his little log cabin beside the rill — 
 The stream flows on, but his heart is still ; 
 Here at rest is our pioneer, 
 Wake not his slumber with sorrow's tear ! " 
 
 Where shall we bury this good, great man 
 Who toiled in the heart of the forest wild ? 
 
 Out in the field that is writ with his name, 
 Lay him down as a dream-tired child : 
 
16 A DIRGE OF THE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 " Here shall we bury our pioneer 
 
 In his little clay cabin beside the rill — 
 The stream flowing on though his heart be stil 
 Here shall we bury our pioneer, 
 Break not his rest with sorrow's tear ! " 
 
 What would ye build to his narrow fame 
 
 That knew not glory, nor gift, nor gain ? 
 His life touched God in a simple way — 
 This be his column on Judgment Day : 
 "Till then shall slumber our pioneer 
 In his little clay cabin beside the rill — 
 The stream flowing on though his heart be still 
 Till then shall slumber our pioneer, 
 Break not his rest with sorrow's tear ! " 
 
THE OLD LOG-COTTAGE SCHOOL. 17 
 
 THE OLD LOG-COTTAGE SCHOOL. 
 
 The old log-cottage school-house, John, 
 
 I think I see it yet, 
 Just but a step from two cross-roads 
 
 Where you and I oft met ; 
 The same board fence encircles round ; 
 
 The bell — well, we had none — 
 But how we guess'd the time, dear John, 
 
 By looking at the sun. 
 
 What anxious boys we went to school 
 
 To learn to read and write, 
 Fill'd with the loftiest notions then, 
 
 And futures just as bright ; 
 How proud we sat upon the bench 
 
 And plum'd each word at will, 
 And smiling round — why, John, I think 
 
 We're in the old school still. 
 
18 THE OLD LOG-COTTAGE SCHOOL.. 
 
 Just look ! right there the blackboard is ; 
 
 The teacher's desk in front ; 
 On either side we stood in class 
 
 And read and " trapp'd " quite blunt : 
 But then those were the good old days, 
 
 Ere style had stalk'd abroad, 
 And neatly prudish pupils now 
 
 Would term our way " a fraud." 
 
 And then the games we used to play 
 
 Upon the old school green, 
 How very little like, dear John, 
 
 The games that now are seen, 
 When with a group on either side 
 
 We hailed the ball with " Over ! " 
 That, bounding down the old grey roof, 
 
 In some one's hands did hover. 
 
 Well, well, time's changed, and with it, John, 
 We've cross'd the path of youth, 
 
 And manfully bearing each his part 
 Let's crown our lives in truth, 
 
THE OLD LOG-COTTAGE SCHOOL. 19 
 
 That when the silvery locks of age 
 
 With death droop round in duel, 
 Our happiest thoughts may find a theme 
 
 In the old log-cottage school ! 
 
20 THE FRECKLED BOY AT SCHOOL. 
 
 THE FRECKLED BOY AT SCHOOL. 
 
 I remember well a freckled boy 
 
 Who used to go to school ; 
 He wore a suit of corduroy, 
 
 And always broke the rule ; 
 And whenever there was fighting 
 
 Upon the old school green, 
 The freckled boy was in it — 
 
 Fact, monopolized the scene. 
 
 The teacher " licked " him every day, 
 
 And sometimes twice and thrice, 
 And on special swell occasions 
 
 He'd get an extra slice ; 
 But in spite of all this drubbing, 
 
 And his penitential life, 
 The freckled boy would fight again — 
 
 Just thirst for new-born strife. 
 
THE FRECKLED BOY AT SCHOOL. 21 
 
 I remember well the old seat 
 
 He sat upon in school, 
 Twas chipp'd and marr'd with pocket knives — 
 
 Which was against the rule : 
 His freckled face shines out there yet 
 
 In wickedness and glee, 
 As it did in boyhood's morning 
 
 'Way back in seventy-three. 
 
 And then the game of marbles 
 
 Upon the old school ground — 
 If there was cheating to be done, 
 
 The freckled boy was round ; 
 And if amid the stake at play 
 
 An alley rare was in it, 
 You could bet your dinner-basket 
 
 That the freckled boy would win it. 
 
 The teacher called him Edward, 
 But the boys all called him " Ed "; 
 
 He sleeps now in " God's acre " 
 With the slab above his head, 
 
22 THE FRECKLED BOY AT SCHOOL. 
 
 Where the flowerets bud and blossom 
 'Neath the sky's vast chastely dome, 
 
 Where the games of life are over 
 And the freckled boy at home. 
 
THE OLD B KINDLE COW. 23 
 
 THE OLD BRINDLE COW. 
 
 Of all old memories that cluster round my heart, 
 
 With their root in my boyhood days, 
 The quaintest is linked to the old brindle cow 
 
 With sly and mysterious ways. 
 She'd linger round the lot near the old potato patch, 
 
 A sentinel by night and by day, 
 Watching for the hour when all eyes were asleep, 
 
 To start on her predatory way. 
 
 The old brush fence she would scorn in her course, 
 
 With turnips and cabbage just beyond, 
 And corn that was blooming through the halo of the 
 night — : 
 
 What a banquet so choice and so fond ! 
 But when the stars of morn were paling in the sky 
 
 The old brindle cow would take the cue, 
 And dressing up her line she'd retreat beyond the 
 fence, 
 
 For the old cow knew just what to do. 
 
24 THE OLD BRINDLE COW. 
 
 What breed did you say ? Why the very best blood 
 
 That could flow in a democratic cow ; 
 No herd-book could tell of the glory in her horns 
 
 Or whence came her pedigree or how : 
 She was Jersey in her milk and Durham in her build, 
 
 And Ayrshire when she happened in a row, 
 But when it came to storming the old " slash " fence 
 
 She was simply the old brindle cow. 
 
 It seems but a day since I drove her to the gate 
 
 To yield up her rich and creamy prize ; 
 For her theft at midnight hour she would yield a 
 double dower, 
 
 With peace of conscience lurking in her eyes. 
 But she's gone — disappear'd with the ripen'd years 
 of time, 
 
 Whose memories my heart enthrall e'en now ; 
 And I never hear a bell tinkling thro' the forest dell 
 
 But I think of that old brindle cow. 
 
THE DANCE AT McDOUGALES. 25 
 
 THE DANCE AT McDOUG ALL'S. 
 
 In a little log house near the rim of the forest 
 
 With its windows of sunlight, its threshold of stone, 
 Lived Donald McDougall, the quaintest of Scotchmen, 
 
 And Janet his wife, in their shanty, alone : 
 By day the birds sang them a chorus of welcome, 
 
 At night they saw Scotland again in their dreams ; 
 They toiled full of hope 'mid the sunshine of friendship, 
 
 Their hearts leaping onward like troutlets in streams, 
 In the little log home of McDougall's. 
 
 At evening the boys and the girls would all gather 
 
 To dance and to court 'neath McDougall's rooftree ; 
 They were wild as the tide that rushes up Solway 
 
 When lashed by the tempests that sweep the North Sea 
 There Malcolm and Flora and Angus and Katie 
 
 With laughter-timed paces came tripping along, 
 And Pat, whose gay heart had been nursed in Old Erin, 
 
 Would link each Scotch reel with a good Irish song, 
 Down at the dance at McDougall's. 
 
26 THE DANCE AT McDOUGALLS. 
 
 For the night was as day at McDougall's log shanty, 
 
 The blaze on the hearth shed its halo around, 
 While the feet that tripp'd lightly the reel "Tullagorum," 
 
 Patter'd each measure with " ooch ! " and with bound ; 
 No " Lancers " nor " Jerseys " were danced at McDougall's, 
 
 Nor the latest waltz-step found a place on the floor, 
 But reels and strathspeys and the liveliest of hornpipes 
 
 Shook the room to its centre from fire-place to door, 
 
 In the little log house of McDougall's. 
 
 Gone now is the light in McDougall's log shanty, 
 
 The blaze on the hearth long has sank into gloom, 
 And Donald and Janet who dreamed of "Auld Scotia" 
 
 Are dreaming of Heaven in the dust of the tomb. 
 While the boys and the girls— the "balachs"and "calahs"- 
 
 Who toiled during day and danced through the night, 
 Live again in bright dreams of Memory's morning 
 
 When their hearts beat to music of life, love and light, 
 Down at the dance at McDougall's. 
 
A LULLABY OF THE SETTLEMENT. 27 
 
 A LULLABY OF THE SETTLEMENT. 
 
 Flower of the forest, nursling of dawn, 
 Sweet be thy slumber in cradle of light, 
 
 Rock'd by the song of the robin on tree-top, 
 Hush'd by the lullaby voice of the night ; 
 
 Nature, thy mother, is kneeling beside thee, 
 Filling thy dreams with the gift of her charm : 
 
 Sleep in thy downy nest, sweet be thy cradle-rest, sleep. 
 
 Flower of the " settlement," blossom of twilight, 
 Cradl'd and croon'd on the breast of the farm, 
 
 Pillow'd by Love, whose strong arms enwind thee, 
 Curtain'd by Faith that shields thee from harm ; 
 
 Sentinel stars keep their watch o'er thy slumber, 
 Sunbeams of joy fill thy chalice of morn : 
 
 Sleep in thy downy nest, sweet be thy cradle-rest, sleep. 
 
28 THE SONG MY MOTHER SINGS. 
 
 THE SONG MY MOTHER SINGS. 
 
 O sweet unto my heart is the song my mother sings 
 
 As eventide is brooding on its dark and noiseless 
 wings ; 
 
 Every note is charged with memory — every memory 
 bright with rays 
 
 Of the golden hours of promise in the lap of child- 
 hood's days ; 
 
 The orchard blooms anew and each blossom scents 
 the way, 
 
 And I feel again the breath of eve among the new- 
 mown hay ; 
 
 While through the halls of memory in happy notes 
 there rings 
 
 All the life-joy of the past in the song my mother sings. 
 
 I have listened to the dreamy notes of Chopin and of 
 
 Liszt, 
 As they dripp'd and droop'd about my heart and 
 
 filled my eyes with mist ; 
 
THE SONG MY MOTHER SINGS. 29 
 
 I have wept strong tears of pathos 'neath the spell of 
 
 Verdi's power, 
 As I heard the tenor voice of grief from out the 
 
 donjon tower ; 
 And Gounod's oratorios are full of notes sublime 
 That stir the heart with rapture thro' the sacred pulse 
 
 of time ; 
 But all the music of the past and the wealth that 
 
 memory brings 
 Seem as nothing when I listen to the song my mother 
 
 It's a song of love and triumph, it's a song of toil and 
 
 care; 
 It is filled with chords of pathos and it's set in notes of 
 
 prayer ; 
 It is bright with dreams and visions of the days that 
 
 are to be, 
 And as strong in faith's devotion as the heart-beat of 
 
 the sea ; 
 
30 THE SONG MY MOTHER SINGS. 
 
 It is linked in mystic measure to sweet voices from 
 
 above, 
 And is starr'd with ripest blessing thro' a mother's 
 
 sacred love ; 
 O sweet and strong and tender are the memories that 
 
 it brings, 
 As I list in joy and rapture to the song my mother 
 
 sings ! 
 
THE DREAMER. 31 
 
 THE DREAMER. 
 
 Men call me dreamer — what care I ? 
 
 The cradle of my heart is rocked ; 
 I dwell in realms beyond the earth ; 
 
 The gold I mint is never locked. 
 
 Men call me dreamer — this forsooth 
 Because I spurn each thing of dross, 
 
 And count the step that leads not up 
 A useless toil, a round of loss. 
 
 Men call me dreamer — nay, that word 
 Hath burned its way from age to age ; 
 
 Its light shone o'er Judea's hills 
 
 And thrilled the heart of seer and sage. 
 
 M^n call me dreamer — yet forget 
 The dreamer lives a thousand years, 
 
 While those whose hearts and hands knead 
 clay 
 Live not beyond their dusty biers. 
 
32 A SONG OF THE STARS 
 
 A SONG OF THE STARS. 
 
 Down thro' the blue-clad fields of heaven 
 Singeth each star from its glittering throne, 
 A song of love and triumph — alone : 
 A song that the angels choir'd in the morn 
 When Christ the Babe in Bethlehem was born. 
 
 How old, how young this song of the stars, 
 Voicing the ages at noontide and night ; 
 Bearing to man a message of light ; 
 Trumpet of heaven and cymbal of sea, 
 Voice that was heard over dark Galilee. 
 
 Hark to that message of peace from the stars 
 Ringing athwart the hut-covered plain ! 
 Shepherds have paused to list to the strain. 
 Far in the East God's love lights the morn — 
 Beams from the glories that Bethlehem adorn. 
 
AN INVITATION. 33 
 
 AN INVITATION. 
 
 Come with me into the mystery of Nature's shadow 
 
 and sound, 
 Where the heart of the past and the dreams of to-day 
 
 make holy each rood of ground ; 
 Where the spoils of the years that have fled are heap'd 
 
 on altars of pain, 
 And the tears that were shed on each pillow of grief 
 
 are turned to glory and gain. 
 
 Come with me into the mystery of Nature's infinite 
 
 plan, 
 With its flower and fruit in heaven above and its root 
 
 in the heart of man ; 
 Where the latent powers of things that are take form 
 
 and shape divine, 
 And the water of life at the wedding feast is turned to 
 
 red, red wine. 
 3 
 
34 AN IMITATION. 
 
 Come with me into the mystery of infinite love and 
 
 care, 
 Where the planets wheel thro' the grooves of time and 
 
 the swallows fade in the air ; 
 Where the thoughts that we utter seek home and rest 
 In the bosom of God with the Infinite Blest. 
 
RECONCILED. 
 
 35 
 
 RECONCILED. 
 
 I saw two nations clasping hands 
 
 Whose hearts had been estranged for years ; 
 The sun of peace upon each brow 
 
 Dispell'd the darksome mist of tears. 
 Behind were centuries robed in night ; 
 
 Before, the glorious dawn of day ; 
 While every peak on Freedom's height 
 
 Flashed back the light of heavenly ray. 
 
 O sister isle ! O nation great ! 
 
 This day a victory hath been won 
 Far greater than the fame that speaks 
 
 Through trumpet's tongue or lip of gun ; 
 This day Peace weaves a garland bright 
 
 And heals the bitter wound of time, 
 Turning the sword with cruel edge 
 
 Into a harp of golden prime. 
 
CHRISTMAS MORN. 
 
 CHRISTMAS MORN. 
 
 A Little Child its portals oped 
 
 When all was dark with sin and shame, 
 
 And Faith's eclipse found heavenly light 
 Within life's ark when Christmas came. 
 
 The star that burned o'er centuries' brow, 
 
 A radiant lamp of hope alone, 
 Now sheds its beams above the crib 
 
 Wherein Christ chose His humble throne. 
 
OUR OWN DEAR LAND. 37 
 
 OUR OWN DEAR LAND. 
 
 Our own dear land of Maple Leaf, 
 
 So full of hope and splendor, 
 With skies that smile on rivers wide, 
 
 And lend them charms so tender ; 
 From east to west in loud acclaim 
 
 We'll sing your praise and story, 
 While with a faith and purpose true 
 
 We'll guard your future glory, 
 Our own dear land ! 
 
 Your flag shall ever be our trust, 
 
 Your temple our devotion, 
 By every lip your paean be sung 
 
 From ocean unto ocean ; 
 The star that lights your glorious path, 
 
 We'll hail with rapture holy, 
 And every gift of heart and hand 
 
 Be yours forever solely, 
 Our own dear land ! 
 
38 A SONG OF CANADIAN RIVERS. 
 
 A SONG OF CANADIAN RIVERS. 
 
 Flow on, noble rivers ! Flow on, flow on, 
 
 In your beauteous course to the sea ! 
 Sweep on, noble rivers ! Sweep on, sweep on, 
 
 Bright emblems of true liberty ! 
 Roll noiselessly on a tide of bright song, 
 
 Roll happily, grandly and free ; 
 Sweep over each plain in silv'ry-tongued strain, 
 
 Sweep down to the deep-sounding sea ! 
 
 Flow on, noble rivers ! Flow on, flow on, 
 
 Flow swiftly and smoothly and free ! 
 Chant loudly and grand the notes of our land — 
 
 Fair Canada's true minstrelsy. 
 Roll joyously on, sweep proudly along, 
 
 In mirthfulest accents of glee ! 
 Flow on, noble rivers ! Flow on, flow on, 
 
 Flow down to the deep-sounding sea ! 
 
A SONG OF CANADIAN RIVERS. 39 
 
 Flow on, sweep on, sweep on, flow on, 
 
 In a measureless, mystical key ! 
 Each note that you wake on streamlet and lake 
 
 Will blend with the song of the sea. 
 Through labyrinth-clad dell, in dreamy-like spell, 
 
 Where slumbers each sentinel tree, 
 Flow on, noble rivers ! Flow on, flow on, 
 
 Flow down to the deep-sounding sea ! 
 
40 MY NATIVE LAND. 
 
 MY NATIVE LAND. 
 
 My native land, how dear to me 
 
 The sunshine of your glory ! 
 How dear to me your deeds of fame, 
 
 Embalm'd in verse and story ! 
 From east to west, from north to south 
 
 In accents pure and tender, 
 Let's sing in lays of joyous praise 
 
 Your happy homes of splendor. 
 Dear native land ! 
 
 Across the centuries of the past, 
 
 With hearts of fond devotion, 
 We trace the white sails of your line 
 
 Through crest'd wave of ocean ; 
 And every man of every race 
 
 Whose heart has shaped your glory 
 Shall win from us a homage true 
 
 In gift of song and story. 
 My native land ! 
 
Ml NATIVE LAND. 41 
 
 O let not petty strife e'er mar 
 
 The bright dawn of your morning, 
 Nor bigot word of demagogue 
 
 Create untimely warning ! 
 Deep in our hearts let justice reign— 
 
 A justice broad and holy — 
 That knows no creed nor race nor tongue, 
 
 But our Dominion solely. 
 Dear native land ! 
 
 Dear native land, we are but one 
 
 From ocean unto ocean ; 
 "The sun that tints the Maple Leaf" 
 
 Smiles with a like devotion 
 On Stadacona's fortress height, 
 
 On Grand-Pre's storied valley, 
 And that famed tide whose peaceful shore 
 
 Was rock'd in battle sally. 
 My native land ! 
 
 Here will we plant each virtue rare, 
 
 And watch it bud and flourish — 
 From sunny France and Scotia's hills 
 
 Kind dews will feed and nourish j 
 
42 MY NATIVE LAND. 
 
 And Erin's heart of throbbing love, 
 So warm, so true and tender, 
 
 Will cheer our hearths and cheer our homes 
 With wealth of lyric splendor. 
 Dear native land ! 
 
 Dear native land, on this New Year 
 
 We pray you ne'er may falter ; 
 That patriot sons may feed the flames 
 
 That burn upon your altar. 
 May Heaven stoop down upon each home, 
 
 And bless in love our people, 
 And ring thro' hearts, both rich and poor, 
 
 Sweet peace from heav'nly steeple. 
 My native land ! 
 
HEROES. 43 
 
 HEROES. 
 
 A Poem read at the Canadian Club Banquet in Hamilton, April, 1894. 
 
 Our land is dower'd with glory 
 
 From the east unto the west, 
 With rays of ripen'd splendor 
 
 That cluster on her breast ; 
 But the stars that beam out brightest, 
 
 And shall burn to the last, 
 Are the deeds that light our fathers' graves — 
 
 The heroes of the past. 
 
 O brothers, ye who gather round 
 
 This festive board to-night, 
 Whose hearts are timed to patriot words 
 
 That glow with love and light ! 
 Recall with me the years gone by — 
 
 Full well ye know their life — 
 When patriots stood to guard our homes 
 
 In dark and deadly strife ; 
 
44 HEROES. 
 
 When through our land a psalm of grief 
 
 Smote every heart and door 
 With tidings from each battlefield 
 
 Rock'd by dread cannons' roar ; 
 And mothers prayed and sisters wept 
 
 With love and faith divine, 
 Beseeching God to guard our hosts 
 
 Along the frontier line. 
 
 From Lundy's Lane and Queenston Heights 
 
 The message speedily came 
 That filled each heart and home with joy 
 
 And tired the wings of fame ; 
 At Chateauguay brave sons of France 
 
 Drove back the stubborn foe, 
 With loyal heart and weapon strong, 
 
 Just eighty years ago. 
 
 But not alone on battlefield 
 Did heroes, staunch and brave, 
 
 Yield up their lives in honor's cause 
 Our country's flag to save : 
 
HEROES. -*:» 
 
 In savage forests deep and drear, 
 Beset with hardships fell, 
 
 Our fathers toiled and sank to sleep 
 Within each lonely dell. 
 
 Their memory lives upon our streams, 
 
 Their deeds upon our plains ; 
 They need not shaft nor monument, 
 
 Nor gold-emblazon'd panes ; 
 In virtues link'd through ages 
 
 Shall their great strong lives flow oil 
 Inspiring souls to nobler deeds . 
 
 From patriot sire to son. 
 
 Theirs be the glory, ours the love, 
 
 In this great cherish'd land, 
 Bearing the impress — seal of heaven 
 
 And fashioned by His hand, 
 Whose victory is the ark of peace, 
 
 Guarded by love— not fear- 
 Strong as the faith that consecrates 
 
 Our heroes with a tear. 
 
4G HEROES. 
 
 A nation's hope, a nation's life 
 
 Be ours from east to west ; 
 A nation's hope, a nation's life 
 
 To fire each patriot breast, 
 That in the blossoming years to come 
 
 Our proudest boast as men, 
 When bound by ties of nationhood, 
 
 To hail this land— Canadian ! 
 
OUR DEATH LESS DEAD. 47 
 
 OUR DEATHLESS DEAD. 
 
 What shall we sing of our heroes 
 
 Who died on the field of fame, 
 Whose patriot deeds of devotion 
 
 Our loving hearts proclaim ? 
 Shall we count the stars of their glory, 
 
 And tell how they fought to save 
 The flag of our home and country 
 
 Now floating above each grave ? 
 
 No ; ours is a simple duty, 
 
 Devoid of trumpet or tongue, 
 With meaning far deeper and greater 
 
 Than bard or poet has sung : 
 Our hearts must beat to their measure, 
 
 Our feet keep pace to their tread, 
 If we would be worthy to honor 
 
 The graves of our deathless dead. 
 
48 OUR DEATHLESS DEAD. 
 
 The world is linked with cycles, 
 
 Each lit with the glory of man, 
 Whose rays of ripen'd splendor 
 
 Stream'd forth when freedom began ; 
 For Persian yielded to Grecian 
 
 Till Roman valor won all, 
 Then the voice of the North rang loud and strong 
 
 That Rome itself must fall. 
 
 Where now is the Spartan soldier 
 
 Who fought with spear and shield, 
 Who lisp'd the names of the warlike gods 
 
 That taught him never to yield ? 
 Where now are the Roman legions 
 
 That answered to victory's call, 
 And smiled when the voice of Cresar 
 
 Sounded the march to Gaul ? 
 
 They live in the heart of history, 
 
 But not in the hearts of men ; 
 Their names are red with the crimson stain 
 
 Of Conquest's crime and sin ; 
 
OUR DEATHLESS DEAD. 49 
 
 They had no message of freedom, 
 
 They knelt at no altar but fame : 
 The gifts they brought to their vanquished foes 
 
 Were slavery, sin and shame. 
 
 But the years have blossomed with new-born 
 thought 
 
 Adown long centuries' plain, 
 And the seed oft sown with Freedom's hand 
 
 Has ripen'd for man — not gain ; 
 For the noblest thought in the world to-day 
 
 Takes counsel with Freedom's plan 
 To snap in twain the bondsman's chain, 
 
 And bid him stand forth — a Man ! 
 
 Then honor and love and tears we bring 
 To each grave of our patriot dead ; 
 
 To the soldier who hearken'd to duty's voice ; 
 To the great strong heart that led. 
 
 We shower o'er each breast, long, long at rest, 
 In rainblow blossom and hue, 
 
 The flowers of our heart, the flowers of out- 
 home — 
 
 God bless the brave and the true ! 
 4 
 
50 TEARS OF THE MAPLE. 
 
 TEARS OF THE MAPLE. 
 
 Sir |ohn Thompson, Premier of Canada, Died at Windsor Castle, 
 England, December 12TH, 1894. 
 
 But yesterday its heart was joyed, 
 It whispered love to brook and tree, 
 
 And felt in every root and limb 
 The genial sun so strong and free. 
 
 Its pulse was timed to English oak ; 
 
 Its heart was true to Northern Star j 
 It grew in wealth of loyal care, 
 
 Cheered by a gift of love afar. 
 
 It felt no gale that swept the land, 
 For truth had girt its roots around, 
 
 And clasped it to a nation's heart 
 Deep set within each rood of ground. 
 
TEARS OF THE MAPLE. 51 
 
 Now in its strength of power and love 
 It feels the wound, it feels the cross — 
 
 The grief that bows our Mother Queen, 
 The sorrow of a nation's loss. 
 
 From out that regal home where dwell 
 The virtues that make England great, 
 
 There came a message dark in word 
 That smote as with the edge of fate — 
 
 A message that a nation's hope 
 
 Had fallen from life's throbbing sky ; 
 
 That he who held a people's trust 
 Fell softly in God's arms on high. 
 
 II, 
 
 O Maple, dowered with life and joy ! 
 
 O bleeding tree of bitter pain ! 
 Our chiefest son, our pilot, guide, 
 
 Falls dead upon the deck in main. 
 
 He loved the sunshine of your heart, 
 A gift from England's queenly rose ; 
 
 He wrought two nations lasting good ; 
 His soul so great loved even foes. 
 
52 TEARS OF THE MAPLE. 
 
 He built not on the shifting sands 
 Of plaudits gained in dubious way ; 
 
 He faced the right, achieved his plan, 
 In clearest light, in fullest day. 
 
 The storms that passion rolled on high 
 Found in his heart no anxious heed ; 
 
 Within the compass of his love 
 
 He knew no tongue, nor race, nor creed. 
 
 The magnet of his noble mind 
 Found swiftly duty's firm decree ; 
 
 He served his God in all his works, 
 And loyal to Him was ever free. 
 
 His deeds are stars to light our path ; 
 
 His fame, a glory born of heaven ; 
 His life, an arc of rounded toil 
 
 To God and country freely given. 
 
 in. 
 O Maple, clad with Christmas cheer, 
 
 How sad your dream of joy to-morrow ! 
 When Hope had kindled bright her fire, 
 
 'Tis quench'd by Death's dark plume of sorrow. 
 
TEARS OF THE MAPLE. 53 
 
 And through our blinding tears is seen 
 
 A ship that bears across the deep 
 The sacred clay of him we loved, 
 
 For whom two nations mourn and weep. 
 
 O cruiser dark, with shadowy wings, 
 Whose lips are tuned to battle's dirge ! 
 
 Bear gently to our mournful shore 
 
 Our honored dead through wind and surge. 
 
 May every star that crowns the night 
 
 Drop beads of light upon his bier, 
 And angels weave a rosary bright, 
 
 From Grief's dark pall and Sorrow's tear. 
 
 And O ye bells, whose requiem toll 
 Speaks to the heart of life and death ; 
 
 Whose pulsing throb and deepest tone 
 Are but a type of human breath ! 
 
 Ring o'er his bier a chime of prayer 
 Strong as a nation's grief and love, 
 
 That he who won a wreath below 
 May win the greater crown above. 
 
54 TEARS OF THE MAPLE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O Maple, robed in shades of night ! 
 
 I come from out your shadowy pall, 
 And leave behind the gift of pain, 
 
 And break the bonds of Sorrow's thrall. 
 
 The greater life of him who died 
 Is vital in our hearts to-day, 
 
 For deeds have power and soul to plan, 
 To shape our lives, to mould our clay. 
 
 Whatever things are done for God 
 Have root in soil beyond our years, 
 
 And bud and bloom in beauteous form, 
 Devoid of earthly hope and fears. 
 
 This life is but the vestibule, 
 
 The altar-stairs that lead to heaven, 
 
 Around whose feet the nations kneel 
 And pray that peace and light be given. 
 
 And looking through the mists of years 
 I see, as in a dream, a land, 
 
 Fashion'd and form'd in toil and prayer, 
 A gift of God divinely planned, 
 
TEARS OF THE MAPLE. 55 
 
 Where 'neath the light of Northern Star, 
 
 With truth and honor for a wall, 
 A nation dwells secure in peace, 
 
 With God, our Father, guiding all. 
 
50 JUNE IS COMING. 
 
 JUNE IS COMING. 
 
 June is not here, and yet I feel 
 
 'Tis softly tripping up the way ; 
 The hours that throb thro' morn and noon, 
 
 Have caught the glory of its ray. 
 I lean my ear to Nature's heart 
 
 And count its pulse of anxious care, 
 That holds communion with a plan 
 
 Deep set in dreams of toil and prayer. 
 
 June is not here, and yet my heart 
 
 Drinks in the freshness of its morns — 
 The rose that blossoms on its cheek 
 
 With light and love my day adorns. 
 The fields of heaven are tender blue, 
 
 And clad with green are hill and plain ; 
 While from each bud and blossom bright 
 
 There bursts a sweet and glad refrain. 
 
JUNE IS COMING. 
 
 June is not here, and yet my soul 
 
 Is touch'd with Nature's throb divine j 
 The brook that slips thro' moss and mead 
 
 Is to my heart a gift and sign. 
 O God, I thank Thee for this love 
 
 That binds my soul in joy and tear, 
 That makes my life a hymn of praise 
 
 To Thy great work, when June is here ! 
 
 57 
 
58 THE RAINBOW. 
 
 THE RAINBOW. 
 
 A Poem contributed to the Initial Number of the Niagara Rainbow, 
 
 PUBLISHED AT LORETTO ACADEMY, NIAGARA FALLS, ONT. 
 
 Eternal seal of peace from God, 
 
 With heavenly colors bright, 
 Spanning this earth with rays of love 
 
 Wrought in divinest light ; 
 Arch of the hours, the days, the years, 
 
 Since our new life began, 
 Symbol of Faith, and Hope, and Love — 
 
 A threefold gift to man : 
 
 Above that altar crown'd with flood, 
 
 In cloud of incense foam, 
 Thou build'st from the dewy air 
 
 Thy many-colored dome ; 
 Glassing within thy subtle form 
 
 The radiance of the sky, 
 Arching our lives, in tender faith, 
 
 With love that cannot die. 
 
THE RAINBOW. 59 
 
 A covenant of the peace that reigns 
 
 Between two great strong lands, 
 Whose glorious heritage of worth 
 
 Is gift of God — not hands ; 
 Where Truth and Honor have a home — 
 
 An altar bright and fair — 
 Pure as the lily of the field, 
 
 Wrapt in deep slumb'rous air. 
 
 O beauteous arch of faith and love ! 
 
 Shine through the mists of life, 
 And fill our dreams of toil and care 
 
 With gift of prayer — not strife ; 
 Light with thy beams our darkest days, 
 
 Rain down in mystic love 
 The joyance of the star-clad hours 
 
 That fills each life above. 
 
 Link with a bond of sweetest joy, 
 
 In memory fair as thine, 
 The hearts that plan, the souls that pray, 
 
 Within Loretto's shrine, 
 
60 THE RAINBOW. 
 
 That in the blossoming years afar 
 May shine out nobly good 
 
 The virtues of that Convent home 
 Where dwells true Womanhood. 
 
RIPENED FRUIT. 61 
 
 RIPENED FRUIT. 
 
 I know not what my heart hath lost, 
 I cannot strike the chords of old ; 
 
 The breath that charmed my morning life 
 Hath chilled each leaf within the wold. 
 
 The swallows twitter in the sky, 
 
 But bare the nest beneath the eaves ; 
 
 The fledglings of my care are gone, 
 And left me but the rustling leaves. 
 
 And yet I know my life hath strength, 
 And firmer hope and sweeter prayer, 
 
 For leaves that murmur on the ground 
 Have now for me a double care. 
 
 I see in them the hope of spring, 
 That erst did plan the autumn day ; 
 
 I see in them each gift of man 
 
 Grow strong in years, then turn to clay. 
 
62 RIPENED FRUIT. 
 
 Not all is lost — the fruit remains 
 
 That ripen'd through the summer's ray 
 
 The nurslings of the nest are gone, 
 Yet hear we still their warbling lay. 
 
 The glory of the summer sky 
 
 May change to tints of autumn hue ; 
 
 But faith that sheds its amber light 
 Will lend our heaven a tender blue. 
 
 O altar of eternal youth ! 
 
 O faith that beckons from afar ! 
 Give to our lives a blossomed fruit ; 
 
 Give to our morns an evening star. 
 
NOVEMBER. G3 
 
 NOVEMBER. 
 
 Chill-clad, cold November, 
 Autumn's drooping head, 
 
 Weeping skies, psalm-like sighs, 
 Nature's cold, cold bed. 
 
 Dead leaves fall before me — 
 Hopes of summer dreams ; 
 
 Naked boughs, broken vows, 
 Mirror'd in bright streams. 
 
 Tatter'd robes of glory 
 Trampled by the wind ; 
 
 Faded rays, faded days, 
 Floating through the mind. 
 
 Days of gloom and sadness, 
 Hours of sacred care ; 
 
 Lonely biers, bitter tears, 
 Hearts in silent prayer. 
 
64 TWO WORKERS. 
 
 TWO WORKERS. 
 
 The man who plants a seed of corn 
 And watches o'er it night and morn, 
 And prays the heaven for kindly cheer 
 To nurse its heart with dewy tear, 
 Is doing work of goodly part 
 Which gladdens hearth and home and mart, 
 And gives his name an honored place 
 Within the compass of his race. 
 
 But he who builds for future time 
 Strong walls of faith and love sublime, 
 Who domes with prayer his gift of toil, 
 Whom neither fate nor foe can foil, 
 Is doing work of godly part 
 Within the kingdom of the heart, 
 And wins him honor brighter far 
 Than ray of light from heavenly star ! 
 
IN LOWLY VALLEY. 65 
 
 IN LOWLY VALLEY. 
 
 Go forth, my heart, and seek some lowly valley, 
 
 Beneath a sky of bright and tender hue, 
 From which kind stars rain down their mystic splendor 
 
 And wake the earth with tears of heavenly dew ; 
 Let not the summit peaks of distant glory 
 
 Shut out the peace that reigns within the plain ; 
 Better the flowers that bloom within the valley 
 
 Than tempting heights lit up with arid gain. 
 
 Go forth, my heart, nor dream of each to-morrow 
 
 That mocks the hopes and sunshine of to-day, 
 For life hath joys that grow within the present, 
 
 But ripen not if touch'd by future ray. 
 In lowly valley, peace broods sweet and holy, 
 
 Full of the vesper-tide of thought and prayer, 
 Bound by the golden clasp of love and duty — 
 
 In lowly valley, life is void of care ! 
 
66 AN IRISH MOTHER 
 
 AN IRISH MOTHER. 
 
 Her dreams fill heaven and earth, 
 
 Her love is a love divine — 
 Ripen'd through sorrow and time and tears, 
 
 'Tis sacred as chalice of wine. 
 
 She kneels at an altar of hope 
 
 When cloudlets have shrouded the day, 
 And her faith as a taper burns bright and clear 
 
 Thro' the love that illumines each ray. 
 
LIFE AND DEATH. 67 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 The swallow skims through the air 
 
 In fields of blinding blue, 
 While the heart of nature calls in joy 
 
 To each billow of infinite hue. 
 
 Below, in a cottage, a mother sits, 
 
 With the tears of grief her dower, 
 As she gazes into the cradle dark 
 
 Where slumber'd her sweet, sweet flower. 
 
 O Swallow, that skims in the air ! 
 
 Do you share in each sorrow and woe ? 
 Do you hear the sob of a mother's heart 
 
 Under the cold, cold snow ? 
 
 Joying athwart the dreamful heavens, 
 
 Have you thought of the nest 'neath the eaves, 
 
 And the fledglings of care that left your side 
 In the greening and glory of leaves ? 
 
LO I '/-: '5 7 'R ) r 5 77. \ r G - / V..-1 6'Ti". 
 
 LOVE'S TRYSTING-PLACE. 
 
 Love met me at the hill-top 
 
 With glad and winsome smile, 
 And held my fickle heart enchain'd— 
 
 just a little while ! 
 
 Love met me in the orchard 
 
 'Neath a blossom-laden tree, 
 And storm'd my heart with longings- 
 
 1 once again was free. 
 
 Love met me where the cypress 
 Is bow'd with Sorrow's tears ; 
 
 I kneel in homage at this shrine 
 Thro' all the rip'ning years. 
 
TO E . <)!> 
 
 TO E . 
 
 Little bird from sunny Spain, 
 Fluttering in a tropic tree, 
 
 Sweet thy song and serenade 
 O'er the bosom of life's sea. 
 
 Nature tuned thy heart so tender, 
 Set its notes in chords divine ; 
 
 Filled thy eyes with gift of wonder 
 Deep as Memory's mystic wine. 
 
7<> WOMAX 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 Dipped in the instincts of heaven, 
 Robed in the garments of earth, 
 
 Maiden and Mother and Queen, 
 Wearing each crown at thy birth : 
 
 Threefold thy gift to the world, 
 Pluck'd from God's ripening sky, 
 
 Tending the altar of life, 
 Kindred to angels on high. 
 
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