Sol Canadien, Terre Cherie.

    (From the French of Isidore Bedard.)

    O soil Canadian, cherished earth,
        The brave, the noble, peopled thee;
    They left the country of their birth,
        And sought a land of liberty.
    It was from glorious France they came:
        They were the pick of warriors, they;
    The shining lustre of their fame
        Is kept untarnished till to-day.

    How beautiful thy fields appear!
        How much thou hast to give content!
    All hail, ye mountains that uprear
        Your lordly heights magnificent!
    All hail, St. Lawrence' noble tide!
        Hail, land by Nature richly deckt!
    Thy children's hearts should throb with pride,
        Thy sons should walk with head erect.

    Still honor the protecting hand
        Of Albion, friend of the opprest;
    And harbor no malicious band
        Of traitors nourished in thy breast.
    Yield never in the storm, be brave;
        Thine only masters are thy laws;
    Thou wast not made to be a slave;
        Fear not, thy rights are Britain's cause.

    If that belov'd, protecting hand
        Should ever fail thee, undismay'd
    Stand by thyself, alone, my land,
        Rejecting, scorning foreign aid.
    From glorious France thy founders came;
        They were the pick of warriors, they:
    The shining lustre of their fame
        Unsullied shall be kept for aye.

W. M. MacKeracher

W. M. MacKeracher was a poet known for his contributions to Canadian literature during the early 20th century. His works often focused on themes of nature, human emotion, and the simplicity of rural life. Though not as widely known as some of his contemporaries, MacKeracher's poetry has been appreciated for its lyrical quality and depth. Much of his work was published in regional journals and anthologies, capturing the essence of Canadian landscapes and the human experience within them. His exact birth and death dates remain obscure.

W. M. MacKeracher

The Night.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

An Autumn Walk.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Adam.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

English

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O Canada, Mon Pays, Mes Amours.

    (Title of a French-Canadian song.)

    O Canada, my country and my love,
    Held in my heart all other lands above;
    To thee to whom my homage should belong
    I pay the cheerful tribute of my song,
    And swear allegiance as on bended knee,
    And vow undying fealty to thee,
    O Canada, my country and my love.

    I crave no land of epic story cast
    In giant shadows on the misty past;
    No land illustrious in former time,
    Which has outlived the vigor of its prime;
    No lordlier land renowned across the sea,
    Nor any other land on earth but thee,
    O Canada, my country and my love.

    Past is thy night of darkness and of tears;
    Thy radiant dawn hath driv'n away our fears;
    Thy sun in morning splendor ...

W. M. MacKeracher

Canada, My Land.

    There may be more enchanting climes
        Within a southern zone;
    There may be eastern Edens deckt
        With charms to thee unknown;
    But thou art fairest unto me,
        Because thou art mine own,
            Canada, my land.

    More spacious plains and loftier heights
        In other realms may be,
    And mightier streams than those which bear
        Thy waters to the sea;
    But thou, great handiwork of God,
        Art grandest unto me,
            Canada, my land.

    More glorious records may adorn
        The annals of the past
    Than those which tell the rise and growth
        Of thy dominion vast;
    But I am proudest of the land
        In which my lot is cast,
            Canada, my land.

W. M. MacKeracher

The Battle Of Chateauguay.

There is a valley where the wheat fields wave
In autumn like a gold ymolten sea;
There is a river whose cool waters lave
Sweet-scented gardens, groves, and rolling lea,
And homes of people worthy to be free;
There is a name whose sound is like a song
On lips of its own maidens - Chateauguay;
Yet mighty as the combat of the strong,
And glorious as the march of Freedom over Wrong.

And here they fought; and each encountered ten,
With war-steed and artillery arrayed;
But righteous was their cause, and they were men, -
Dark plumes of Iroquois, and Scotia's plaid,
But most, the brothers of the arm which made
Napoleon terrible with triumphing.
Between the foe and heaven they knelt and prayed,
Then, rising, heard their leader's summons ring -
"Such is our d...

W. M. MacKeracher

Canada

Dear Canada, our native land,
Our love for thee grows day by day;
Our fathers left the olden strand,
O'er sea and rapids made their way,
And by their energy and skill
They laid thy firm foundation deep,
And sowed the seed o'er vale and hill
Which we, their sons, are called to reap.

The wilderness blooms as the rose;
The old-time hardships are unknown;
And wealth in streams of commerce flows
From sea to sea--a nation grown--
Still youthful, but with thews of steel
To throttle foes that may arise;
Yet loving touch sore hearts to heal,
And lift us nearer to the skies.

We cannot boast as blue a sky
As smiles o'er many an Alpine plain,
Nor are our mountain peaks as high
As theirs, yet we have other gain;
Our hills are rich in yellow ...

Joseph Horatio Chant

The Native Born.

There's a thing we love to think of when the summer days are long,
And the summer winds are blowing, and the summer sun is strong,
When the orchards and the meadows throw their fragrance on the air,
When the grain-fields flaunt their riches, and the glow is everywhere.
        Something sings it all the day,
            Canada, fair Canada,
    And the pride thrills through and through us,
            'Tis our birthplace, Canada!

There's a thing we love to think of when the frost and ice and snow
Hold high carnival together, and the biting north winds blow.
There's a thing we love to think of through the bitter winter hours,
For it stirs a warmth within us - 'tis this fair young land of ours.
        Something sings it all the day,
            Canada, fair Canada,

Jean Blewett

Canada's Resources.

        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 yiel...

James McIntyre