The Maple Tree.
By Thomas Frederick Young
Where craggy hills round Madoc rise,
With scenic grandeur bold,
Where frowning rocks, from wooded heights,
Look down so stern and cold,
On peaceful vales, and silent lakes,
And islets, wild and fair,
Where trees, in fadeless beauty clad,
Display their verdure there.
Where men, undaunted by the force
Of nature's stern array,
Determin'd, drive a prosp'rous course,
And honorable way.
Here doth the oak rear high its form,
The spreading beech beside,
And here the hemlock meets the storm,
With branches stretching wide.
The pine, with straight and lofty stem,
The birch, whose shapen rind
Sails o'er the lakes by dusky hands,
Or favorable wind.
Such trees as those, are widely known,
And many more beside,
And may be found from Madoc's hills,
To Huron's waters wide.
Right dear they are to sturdy hearts;
To pioneers, their name
Lights up the thoughts of other days,
With bright and cheerful flame.
But dearer far than all of these,
Than all from sea to sea,
To Canada's brave sons of toil,
Is the stout maple tree.
The maple tree! the maple tree!
Because its leaf so fair,
Is emblem of our Canada,
And all our hopes are there.
Our country thrives, and so shall we,
On this, our native sod,
If we respect our maple tree,
And worship only God.
The maple leaf! the maple leaf!
Tho' in the fall it fade,
May it but die, to bloom again,
And brighten up the glade.
Oh, deeper strike each year thy roots,
Young Canada's fair tree,
That no rude hand may tear thee up,
Thou emblem of the free.
If on thy branch an eagle bold,
Or other bird of prey,
Shall dare with haughtiness to sit,
May it soon fly away.