Canada, Canada, land of the maple, Queen of the forest and river and lake, Open thy soul to the voice of thy people, Close not thy heart to the music they make. Bells, chime out merrily, Trumpets, call cheerily, Silence is vocal, and sleep is awake! 2. Canada, Canada, land of the beaver, Labour and skill have their triumph to-day; Oh! may the joy of it flow like a river, Wider and deeper as time flies away. Bells, chime out merrily, Trumpets, call cheerily, Science and industry laugh and are gay. 3. Canada, Canada, land of the snow-bird, Emblem of constancy change cannot kill, Faith, that no strange cup has ever unsobered, Drinketh, to-day, from love’s chalice her fill. Bells, chime out merrily, Trumpets, call cheerily, Loyalty singeth and treason is still! 4. Canada, Canada, land of the bravest, Sons of the war-path, and sons of the sea, Land of no slave-lash, to-day thou enslavest Millions of hearts with affection for thee. Bells, chime out merrily, Trumpets, call cheerily, Let the sky ring with the shout of the free. 5. Canada, Canada, land of the fairest, Daughters of snow that is kissed by the sun, Binding the charms of all lands that are rarest, Like the bright cestus of Venus in one! Bells, chime out merrily, Trumpets, call cheerily, A new reign of beauty on earth is begun! VIII. 1. The ocean has kissed her feet With cool, soft lips that smile, And his breath is wondrously sweet With the odours of many an isle. 2. He has many a grand old song Of his grand, old fearless kings; And the voice from his breast is strong, As he sings and laughs as he sings. 3. Though often his heart is sad With the weight of the gray-haired days That were once as light and as glad As the soul of a child that plays. 4. But to-day at Canada’s feet, He smiles, as when Venus was born, And the breath from his lips is as sweet As the breath of wet flowers at morn. IX. 1. The mountains raise their faces Up to the face of God; They are fresh with balmy graces And with flowers their feet are shod. 2. In their soul is a noise of gladness, Their veins swell out with song,-- With a feathery touch of sadness, Like a dream of forgotten wrong. 3. They have set their song to the metre Of the bright-eyed summer days, And our Land, to-day they greet her, With lips that are red with praise. X. 1.