Though the wealthy loll within me and on luxury they feast, Though they robe me and bedeck me with the weavings of the East, Though my floors with rugs be matted, that their feet may silent tread, I am steel and stone and iron, and my soul is mountain-bred. When the wind drives from the mountain far beyond the river shore, All my being throbs in gladness to the music of its roar, All the primal that's within me, all the hewn and chiselled stone, Thrills in greeting to the booming of its mighty chested tone. And I see the pine-tressed mountains where they taunt the raging gale, As it roars adown the gulches to the cities of the vale, And the bed within its shadows where for centuries I lay, Beckons for the lost one, dwelling where the humans hold their sway. When the night her mask of sable presses on the earth's warm face, And when, satined and bejewelled, lovely women do me grace, When the violins are throbbing out the passion of the dance, Then I ponder on the future, and the destiny of chance. I the chateau, I the splendid, shall I crumble and decay, Lichened guard the shining river when the years have passed away, Or a comforter still flourish, guarding humans from the blast, When a century has rounded, when a hundred years have passed. Time the jester, time the judger, time the measurer of things, Time shall weigh the builders' cunning, as the earth to eastward swings; They have hewn me to being, they have shaped with skilful hands, And the chateau on the plateau o'er the river proudly stands.[*] [*] This poem was written around the building of the Chateau Laurier, Ottawa. From the Chateau a fine view of the Laurentian Mountains can be had. THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS Snowflakes and happy bells, And hopeful words sincere, And hands that grip, while from the lips Fall words of Christmas cheer. Snowflakes and shining eyes, And the joy that giving gives, That opes heart-gates in love, nor hates A single thing that lives. Snowflakes and prattle sweet, Heart music and soft chimes, And stories rare where friends compare The present with past times. Snowflakes and leaden skies, And men in prison cells, That make their moans to cold gray stones, Nor hear thy chimes, O bells. Snowflakes and hearts that break In longing for sweet home, And faces worn and passion torn That brood uncheered alone. Snowflakes and tolling bells, And the slow tread on the snow, The sobbing hushed, the teardrops brushed, And saddened voices low. Snowflakes, and o'er it all The voice of One divine Calls low and sweet, "Be glad, nor weep, For rich and poor are Mine. "Snowflakes--O ye who joy, Remember My commands: Clothe ye and feed all those in need In this and other lands. "Snowflakes--O prisoned ones, Grieve not, but kneel and pray; For tidings glad I bring the sad: I ransomed men this day.