It is now two hundred years and more
Since first set foot on Canadian shore
That saint-like heroine, fair and pure,
Prepared all things for Christ to endure;
Resigning rank and kindred ties,
And her sunny home 'neath France's skies.

A lonely sight for her to see
Was the wilderness town of Ville Marie!
The proud St. Lawrence, with silver foam,
Touched softly the base of our island home,
But frowning forest and tangled wood
Made the land a dreary solitude.

Nor mansion, chapel, nor glinting spire
Reflected the sunset's fading fire;
The wigwam sent up its faint blue smoke,
The owlet's shrill cry the stillness broke,
While the small rude huts of the settlers stood
Within frail palisades of wood.

Undaunted by fear of the savage foe,
Wild midnight blaze or th'assassin's blow;
Careless of suffering, famine, want,
That haunted the settlers like spectres gaunt,
Sister Bourgeois had but one hope, one aim--
To humbly work in her Master's name.