Let our voices be heard on this glorious morn
In anthems of joy, for a NATION is born;
A companion for her who rules o'er the wave--
The foe of the tyrant--the friend of the slave.

Born--not 'mid the battle-field's carnage and woe,
Where father and brother and friend are laid low;
Borne away on the breast of the crimson-dyed wave
From the glory of life to the gloom of the grave.

Her form rises not from the ashes of death,
Her brow is untouched by war's pestilent breath;
Crime breathes not the air which refreshes her life,
And ne'er has she gazed on the red flag of strife.

But the sword which has slain every foe in her way,
Severs not the dear ties of fond hearts in its play;
It leaves not a dark stain of horror behind--
'Tis the bright sword of TRUTH--the weapon of MIND.

It flashed in the sunlight of earth's dawning hour,
And gleaned 'mid the darkness of tyranny's power;
Dark compacts of wrong it has severed in twain,
And guarded the goddess of RIGHT in her reign.

And ne'er has it conquered in error's dark night,
Or swift put the foes of progression to flight,
With such effortless power as it conquers to-day,
And CANADA draws her first breath 'neath its sway.

Yes, our Nation is born on the bosom of Peace;
May her glory grow bright and her power increase;
O'er her head may no cloud of adversity rise,
But smooth be her pathway and stormless her skies.

And O may that God whom the Heavens doth hide,
Be our country's defender, her guardian and guide;
That CANADA ne'er from her seat may be hurled
'Till she falls in her might with the fall of the World.