Dim grandeur spreads we know not why
O'er mountain, forest, tree and knoll,
And murmurs indistinctly fly.--
Some magic moment sure is nigh.
O Seer, the curtain roll!

SEER
The Vision, mortal, it is this--
Dead mountain, forest, knoll and tree
Awaken all endued with bliss,
A native land--O think!--to be--
_Thy_ native land--and ne'er amiss,
Its smile shall like a lover's kiss
From henceforth seem to thee.

The Cry thou couldst not understand,
Which runs through that new realm of light,
From Breton's to Vancouver's strand
O'er many a lovely landscape bright,
It is their waking utterance grand,
The great refrain "A NATIVE LAND!"--
Thine be the ear, the sight.

(1882.)



NATIONAL HYMN.

To Thee whose smile is might and fame,