This Irishman, who, when he sees the Green,
Turns that his shaking lips may not be seen,
He, too, shall bear a son who, blythe and gay,
Sings the old songs but in a cheerier way!
Who has the love, without the anguish sharp,
For Erin dreamingly by her golden harp!
All these and many others, patient, wait
Before our ever-open prairie gate
And, filing through with laughter or with tears,
Take what their hands can glean of fruitful years.
Here some find home who knew not home before;
Here some seek peace and some wage glorious war.
Here some who lived in night see morning dawn
And some drop out and let the rest go on.
And of them all the years take toll; they pass
As shadows flit above the prairie grass.
From every land they come to know but one—
The kindly earth that hides them from the sun—
But, in their places, children live, and they
Turn with glad faces to a common day.
Of every land, they too, but one land claim—
The land that gives them place and hope and name—
Canadians, they, and proud and glad to be
A part of Canada’s sure destiny!
What if within their hearts deep memories hide
Of lands their fathers grieved for, till they died?
The bitterness is gone and in its stead
New understanding and new hopes are bred,
With wider vision which may show the world
Its cannon dumb, its battle-flags close furled!
—Dreams? We may dream indeed, with heart elate,
While a new Nation clamors at our gate!
Lone Voyager! Thy Ship of Dreams
Spreads its free sail and slips away
Into the distant visioning
That lies behind the end of day.
The restless tide’s impatient wave
In from the broad Pacific rolls
And sunset marks a mystic way
To the far-shining Port of Souls.
We, watching on the darkening shore,
Wave you farewell, and strain our eyes
Till that bright speck which is your sail
Is lost in the enfolding skies.
Brave Heart, Sweet Singer! Speed you well
To those dim islands of the blest,
Far—far—and ever farther, till
The end of distance brings you rest!
* For Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake.)
O whether by the lonesome road that lies across the
Or whether by the hill that stoops, rock-shadowed, to the sea,
Or by a sail that blows from far, my love returns to me!
No fear is hidden in my heart to make my face less
No tear is hidden in my eye to dim the brightness there—
I wear upon my cheek the rose a happy bride should wear.
For should he come not by the road, and come not by
And come not by the far seaway, yet come he surely will—
Close all the roads of all the world, love’s road is open still!
My heart is light with singing (though they pity me
And drop their merry voices as they pass the garden gate)
For love that finds a way to come, can find a way to wait!