United States.

        The United States is wondrous land,
        Within its mighty borders grand,
        They are a world unto themselves,
        In South the Negro plows and delves.

        Raising tobacco, sugar, cotton,
        Grapes and rice too may be gotten,
        The west for corn, cattle and swine,
        On which millions o'er the world dine.

        The silver hills of Colorado,
        Equaled only by Nevada,
        And o'er the world you can't behold
        Aught like California's mines of gold.

        To vast extent her exports reaches,
        Of grapes and oranges and peaches,
        And Florida the land of flowers
        Is famous for its orange bowers.

        Pennsylvania's hills environ
        Wondrous mines of coal and iron,
        Great marvel of these modern days,
        All you require yourselves could raise.

        But still Canadians are content
        With their own half of continent,
        Though Uncle Sam is most wealthy,
        Canada's content and healthy.

        Sam and her are blood relation,
        Sprung alike from British nation,
        May peaceful odes alone be sung
        'Tween people of one race and tongue.

        When Canada's ten million strong,
        Then none will dare to do her wrong,
        Either as a youthful nation
        Or in Imperial Federation.

James McIntyre

James McIntyre was a Canadian poet, most notable for his poetry concerning cheese, cheese-making, dairying, and dairy products. Often referred to as 'The Cheese Poet,' McIntyre's work is celebrated for its earnestness and unintentional humor, making him both a beloved and an infamous figure in literary circles. He emigrated from Scotland to Canada in 1851 and settled in Ingersoll, Ontario, where he became a successful businessman and community leader.

James McIntyre

Oddfellowship Lines Read At Concert, 1883.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Dick And Edward.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Reminiscences

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

Millar.

James McIntyre, Simple Poetry

English

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Canada's Future.

        Canada is a young giant,
            Has not yet acquired its strength,
        On the arts of peace reliant,
            Throughout its vast breadth and length.

        Though 'tis not famed for orange bowers
            Nor for the products of its vines,
        Though other lands have fairer flowers,
            Yet it to nobler gifts inclines.

        It doth produce the golden grain
            And few lands can with it compete,
        They often try but all in vain
            To produce such splendid wheat.

        Our geologists divine,
            That ere long we will behold
        Many a rich glittering mine
            Of copper, silver and of gold.

        But we sing more glorious theme,
            It is ou...

James McIntyre

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

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

Canada Our Home, 1883.

The following response to Canada our home was given at a banquet of the Caledonian Society, Ingersoll:

In responding to the sentiment Canada our home perhaps it would be appropriate to point out the prominent and distinguishing characteristics between the land of our nativity and the land of our adoption. In this Canada of ours we have no bonny blooming heath, no banks and braes covered o'er with daisies and gowans, no fragrant hedges showering down white spray in the May time, no whin and broom prodigal in their gaiety of yellow flowers, no hills nor glens where fairies gambol in pleasant and harmless sport, no grand ruins of ancient cathedrals and castles, no feathered songsters like the mavis and blackbird.

        Full oft we did enraptured hark
        To heavenly song of the skylark.

But Canada ...

James McIntyre

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