The waves will soon divide
Thee and thy home, young bride;
God save the Queen!
But over land and sea
Warm hearts will follow thee,
First rose of England’s tree;
God save the Queen.
A nation’s hearty welcome take,
Heir to a mighty throne;
Thrice welcome! for old England’s sake,
Thy mother’s, and thine own.
From crowded street, from hillside green,
From fair Canadian vales,
The prayer goes up—God bless the Queen!
God bless the Prince of Wales!
The rich and poor, the great and small
Their voices join as one;
Victoria’s name is dear to all,
So is Victoria’s Son.
Their tribute other queens have laid
Upon the land and sea;
But never earthly monarch swayed
So many hearts as she.
And for her young and gallant heir
A kindred love prevails;
God hear a nation’s fervent prayer!
God bless the Prince of Wales!
[This was probably written in the early part of the
year 1861, before Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation
had given deliverance to the captives, and when “the
north star” was an object dear to many a slave
who longed to breathe the free air of Canada.
The Rev. E. H. Dewart says of it: “This
spirited lyric is alike creditable to the talents,
patriotism, and independence of its author. Its
loyalty is an intelligent attainment, free from blind
prejudice and crouching adulation.”]
What land more beautiful than ours?
What other land more blest?
The South with all its wealth of flowers?
The prairies of the West?
Oh no! there’s not a fairer land
Beneath yon azure dome—
Where Peace holds Plenty by the hand,
And Freedom finds a home.
The slave who but her name hath heard,
Repeats it day and night,
And envies every little bird
That takes its northward flight.
As to the Polar star they turn
Who brave a pathless sea:
So the oppressed in secret yearn,
Dear native land, for thee!
How many loving memories throng
Round Britain’s stormy coast!
Renowned in story and in song,
Her glory is our boast.
With loyal hearts we still abide
Beneath her sheltering wing,—
While with true patriot love and pride,
To Canada we cling.
We wear no haughty tyrant’s chain,—
We bend no servile knee,
When to the Mistress of the main
We pledge our fealty.
She binds us with the cords of love,—
All others we disown;
The rights we owe to God above,
We yield to him alone.
May He our future course direct
By his unerring hand;
Our laws and liberties protect,
And bless our native land.
